LOUDEN 
I.  THOM 


>s 


^REHPfeSTANOAHDUBRARY  Eomfl* 


MRS.  PARTRIDGE  PRESENTS; 

nedy  in  3   acts.     By  Mary  Kennedy   and  Buth 
Modern  c 

Th« 

is  a   • 

Bhe   ii  s,    and   at 

sides   over   the    >  a    growing    son 

struggle   to   give   the    children    the    opportui  ;'    had 

sie  revolt  against  her 

management — tlv  isis  of  the  plot.     The  son 

lor  the  part  of  artist  and  the  daughter  who  Is  to  go  on  the  stag! 
offer  numerous  opportunities  for  the  dovelopment  of  the  comie 
possibilities  in  the  theme. 

The  play   is   one  of  the  most  delightful,   yst  thought-provoking 
American  comedies  of  recent  years,  and  is  warmly  n •< 
to  all  amateur  groups.     (Royalty  on  application.)     Pries,  75  Cento, 


Melodrama  in  3  acts.  By  Eleanor  Eobson  and  Harriet 
Ford.  8  males,  3  females,  2  interiors.  Modern  eostumea, 
Plays  2%  hours. 

"Philip  Vantine  has  bought  a  rare  copy  of  an  original  Boule 
cabinet  and  ordered  it  shipped  to  his  New  York  home  from  Paris. 
When  it  arrives  it  is  found  to  be  the  original  itself,  the  poa° 
session  of  which  is  desired  by  many  strange  people.  Before  the 
mystery  e<  ith  the  cabinet's  shipment  •  can  be  cleared! 

up,   two   pi  -    death   fooling   with   it   and    thfc 

happii  tors  is  thr-  :'urni 

Mantii  iay,   comprising 

of  st^  'iy  and  drama.      "In   ; 

is  qu  reservedly 

liigh     schools     and     colleges.        (Royalty,     twenty-five     dollars.) 

Price,  75  Cent*. 


SAMUEL  FBENCH,  25  Weet  45th  Street,  Smr  York  City 
V«w  and  Rzpli«lt  Dewnrifrttve  Osttalogu*  Malted  Ptee  OD 


THE  CHAMPION 


A  COMEDY  IN  THREE  ACTS 


BY 
THOMAS  LOUDEN 

AND 

A.  E.  THOMAS 


COPYRIGHT,  1922,  BY  SAMUEL  FRENCH 
All  Rights  Reserved 


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Applications  for  the  acting  rights  must  be  made  to  SAMUEL 
FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York,  N.  Y. 


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SAMUEL  FRENCH 

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,  26  SOUTHAMPTON  STREET 
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THE  CHAMPION 

COPYRIGHT,  1922,  BY  SAMUEL  FRENCH 


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Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America  by 
THE  RICHMOND  HILL.  RECORD,  RICHMOND  HILL,  N.  Y. 


The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  playbill  of  the  first  per- 
formance of  "The  Champion"  at  Longacre  Theatre,  New 
York,  Monday  evening,  January  3rd,  1921. 

SAM   H.   HARRIS 

PRESENTS 
"THE  CHAMPION" 

A  COMEDY  IN  THREE  ACTS 
BY 

THOMAS  LOUDEN  and  A.  E.  THOMAS 

Staged  under  the  direction  of  Sam  Forrest 
CAST    OF    CHARACTERS 

JANE  BURROUGHS  (WILLIAM'S  Mother) ..  .Lucy  Beaumont 

MARY  BURROUGHS    (Younger  Sister) Rosalind  Fuller 

JOHN  BURROUGHS   (Father) Arthur  Elliott 

GEORGE  BURROUGHS   (Elder  Brother) Frank  Westcrton 

DAVID  BURROUGHS  (Younger  Brother) Gerald  Hamer 

LADY  ELIZABETH  GALTON Ann  Andrews 

LORD   BROCKLINGTON Gordon   Burby 

WILLIAM  BURROUGHS  Grant  Mitchell 

ANTOINETTE  Desiree  Stempel 

SIMMONS   Robert  Williamson 

MR.  MOONEY  Robert  Lee  Allen 

MR.   COYKENDALL   Harold  Howard 

EARL  OF  CHUFFLEIGH  Horace  Cooper 

MARQUIS  OF  HARROWEEN  Robert  Ayrton 

BARON  HOLLOWAY   Robert  Warwick 

MAYOR  OF  KNOTLEY   A.  P.  Kaye 

FRANK  SMITH   Tom  Williams 


SYNOPSIS  OF  SCENES 

ACT  I — Sitting  room  in  house  of  MR.  BURROUGHS, 

Knotley,  England. 
ACT  II — Same  Scene. 
ACT  III — Same  Scene. 


THE  CHAMPION 


ACT    I 

SCENE  :  Sitting  room  in  house  of  MR.  BURROUGHS, 
Knotley,  England.  The  French  windows  at  back 
are  open.  Through  them  can  be  seen  the  gar- 
den. There  is  a  door  R.  which  leads  into  the 
hall  and  so  to  the  hall  door  of  the  house.  Door 
L.  leads  to  the  other  rooms  of  the  house.  Fire- 
place down  R.  and  before  it  is  a  large,  conspicu- 
ous rug.  Table  R.C.  with  telephone  and  books. 
Chairs  R.  and  L.  of  table.  Large  couch  L.  be- 
hind which  is  an  old-fashioned  square  grand 
piano.  Pictures  on  walls  and  console  table  and 
chairs  at  back  R.  and  L. 

When  curtain  rises  it  is  late  evening  on  a 
summer  day. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS  is  discovered  on  sofa  read- 
ing a  book.  A  basket  of  needlework  on  the 
piano. 

(Enter  MARY  c.  from  garden.    She  is  a  charming 
young  girl  of  seventeen  or  thereabouts.) 

MARY.    Ah !    Mother ! 
MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Is  that  you,  Mary? 
MARY.    Are  you  reading  here  in  the  dark  ? 
MRS.    BURROUGHS.     It   is  nearly  dusk,  isn't   it, 
dear? 

MARY.    Mother,  you'll  ruin  your  eyes.    ( She  goes 
7 


8  THE   CHAMPION 

to  electric  light  switch  at  back  and  switches  on  the 
rest  of  the  lights.) 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.     Where  have  you  been,  dear? 

MARY.  Over  at  the  Rectory.  And,  Mother,  Mrs. 
Archer  gave  me  this  letter  for  you. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.     Oh! 

MARY.  She  told  me  I  was  to  say  that  it  came  a 
week  ago,  but  that  she  kept  it,  knowing  you  were 
visiting  Aunt  Lydia. 

MRS.  BURROGHS.  Yes,  dear — yes.  (She  opens  it 
rather  furtively  and  reads  it  as  MARY  rattles  on.) 

MARY.  Mother,  why  should  Mrs.  Archer  get  your 
mail?  (Pause.)  Is  it  important?  (Pause.)  Can't 
you  tell  me,  Mother 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.     (Starting)     Oh! 

MARY.    What  is  it,  Mother? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  He's  coming  home!  He's 
coming  home! 

MARY.    Who's  coming  home? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Your  dear  brother  Willie. 

MARY.  My  brother  Willie?  Just  thinkN  Mother, 
I've  never  seen  him. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  You  saw  him,  dear,  when  you 
were  a  child,  but  you  can't  remember  him. 

MARY.  (Sits  on  sofa  L.)  And  is  that  letter  from 
him? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Yes. 

MARY.  But  I  don't  understand.  Why  should  it 
come  through  Mrs.  Archer? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Oh,  of  course — you  don't 
know,  do  you? 

MARY.    Know  what,  Mother  ? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Well,  I  think  I'll  just  have  to 
tell  you.  You're  old  enough  to  understand  now — 
and  it  will  be  a  relief.  I  just  hate  keeping  a  se- 
cret  

MARY.  A  secret!  Oh,  Mother!  How  wonder- 
ful! 


THE   CHAMPION  9 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  — and  I've  had  to  keep  this 
one  for  a  long,  long  time.  Your  brother  Willie  ran 
away. 

MARY.     Mother ! 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Yes — but  it  was  when  you 
were  very  little. 

MARY.    But  why?    Why? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  He  couldn't  get  on  with  your 
father. 

MARY.    Oh,  I  can  understand  that. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  I  don't  altogether  blame  him. 
He  was  only  a  lad.  One  night  he  just  disappeared, 
and  when  I  came  down  in  the  morning  I  found  his 
good-bye  note  on  the  breakfast  table.  It  was  fifteen 
years  ago. 

MARY.    But  about  Mrs.  Archer 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Oh,  yes — well — he  knew 
there'd  be  trouble  with  your  father  if  he  knew  I 
heard  from  him,  so  he  just  wrote  to  Mrs.  Archer 
and  asked  her  to  give  his  letters  secretly  to  me. 

MARY.  And  you've  been  hearing  from  him  all 
this  time  and  no  one  knew  it? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Yes,  dear. 

MARY.  (Gleefully)  Just  think  how  angry  father 
would  be. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Oh,  I  know  it  looks  very 
wrong  of  me — your  father  was  so  angry  when 
Willie  ran  away — washed  his  hands  of  him  for  good 
and  all — forbade  all  of  us  to  hold  communication 
with  him. 

MARY.    Have  you  told  George  and  David  ? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Oh,  no — no — and  you  mustn't, 
either — not  a  word. 

MARY.     And  now  he's  coming  home. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Yes.  He  doesn't  say  just 
when,  but  he  says  it  will  be  very  soon. 

MARY.    What's  he  do?    What's  his  business? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    He  says  he's  an  attorney,  but 


•'  io  THE  CHAMPION 

I'm  told  that's  what  Americans  say  when  they  mean 
barrister.    American  slang,  I  suppose. 

MARY.  Oh,  do  tell  me  some  more — it's  so  excit- 
ing. I  want  to  know  all  about  him. 

(Voice  is  heard  off  right.) 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Hush,  dear,  hush,  not  a  word, 
mind. 

(Enter  GEORGE  BURROUGHS,  followed  by  MR.  BUR- 
ROUGHS? BURROUGHS  is  a  fat,  pompous,  domi- 
neering man  of  sixty.  GEORGE  is  a  thin,  anemic 
Briton  of  thirty-two  or  thirty-three  with  the 
monocle  habit.) 

GEORGE.  I'm  inclined  to  agree  with  you,  pater. 
The  working  classes  are  getting  altogether  too  promi- 
nent! 

BURROUGHS.  (Taking  up  what  is  evidently  his 
customary  pose  on  the  hearth  rug,  with  his  news- 
paper) It  really  is  too  silly — altogether  objection- 
able, in  my  opinion, — all  this  encouragement  of  the 
lower  classes  to  take  up  sports — it  simply  leads  them 
on  to  bet  and  drink — that's  the  long  and  short  of  it. 

GEORGE.  It's  not  as  if  the  proletariat  stood  in 
need  of  exercise,  either.  It's  got  work  enough  to 
do.  Heaven  knows! 

MARY.  (Taking  election  poster  from  piano) 
Mother,  I'm  going  to  pin  George's  election  poster 
on  the  wall.  (Gets  pins  from  MRS.  BURROUGHS. 
Puts  up  poster.) 

BURROUGHS.  Within  three  days,  George's  photo- 
graph will  adorn  every  blank  wall  in  Knotley. 

(Enter  DAVID.  He  is  a  few  years  younger  than 
GEORGE  and  he  wears  the  clerical  uniform  of 
the  Church  of  England.  He  enters  from  c. 
with  a  letter  in  his  hand.) 


II 

DAVID.  Letter  for  you,  Gov'nor.  (Gives  it  to  his 
father.) 

BURROUGHS.     A  coronet! 

GEORGE.    By  Jove ! 

BURROUGHS.  The  Earl's  crest,  Jane.  I  heard  he 
was  in  Knotley.  I  wrote  and  asked  him  to  take  pot- 
luck  with  us  to-night. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  How  nice!  I'm  all  in  a  flut- 
ter! 

GEORGE.    What's  his  Lordship  say,  Pater? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Do  read  it,  John. 

BURROUGHS.     (Gloomily)     I  have  read  it. 

MARY.  (Crosses  to  him)  Yes,  Father,  but  we 
haven't. 

BURROUGHS.  (Reads)  "Sir — I  cannot  take  pot- 
luck  with  you  to-night.  Chuffleigh." 

DAVID.    It  sounds  almost  rude. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Doesn't  he  even  thank  you  for 
your  kind  invitation? 

BURROUGHS.  "Sir — I  cannot  take  pot-luck  with 
you  to-night."  (MARY  giggles.)  What  are  you 
laughing  at? 

MARY.  (Business.  Goes  up  stage.)  Maybe  the 
Earl  isn't  hungry. 

BURROUGHS.  I  cannot  understand  it.  I  have  ex- 
erted myself  in  every  conceivable  way  to  be  as 
agreeable  as  possible  to  his  Lordship — all  to  no 
effect.  On  the  street  he  barely  nods  to  me — and 
now — this.  It's  too  much.  It's  decidedly  too  much. 
(He  crumples  up  the  note  and  throws  it  in  fireplace.) 

GEORGE.  (Sitting  L.  of  table)  It's  a  thousand 
pities — especially  now  that  Lady  Elizabeth  is  visit- 
ing us. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  It  would  have  been  nice — the 
daughter  of  a  Marquis  and  the  Earl  of  Chuffleigh — 
both  at  our  table  together. 

BURROUGHS.  It  would  have  been  gratifying — ex- 
tremely gratifying. 


12  THE  CHAMPION 

MARY.  I  don't  know  what  you  all  see  in  that 
funny  little  man. 

BURROUGHS.  Child,  be  quiet  and  allow  your  eld- 
ers to  judge.  Social  ambition  is  most  praiseworthy. 
As  you  know,  it  is  my  earnest  hope  that  when  George 
is  elected  to  Parliament,  Lady  Elizabeth  will  con- 
sent to  become  his  wife. 

MARY.  Dear  Lady  Elizabeth — she's  awfully  poor, 
isn't  she? 

BURROUGHS.  An  alliance  of  wealth  and  rank. 
What  could  be  more  suitable  ?  What,  indeed  ? 

MARY.  (Crosses  to  GEORGE)  George,  have  you 
asked  her? 

GEORGE.  Certainly  not!  And  I  don't  intend  to 
till  after  I'm  elected. 

(Dressing  gong  sounds.    GEORGE  rises  and  exits  R.j 

BURROUGHS.  The  dressing  gong.  It's  late  to- 
night. Really,  Jane! 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    I'm  so  sorry,  John. 

BURROUGHS.    I  trust  it  will  not  occur  again. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    I'll  speak  to  Simmons. 

BURROUGHS.    Come,  we  must  dress  for  dinner. 

MARY.  Mother — David's  the  lucky  one.  He 
doesn't  have  to  dress. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  And  he  would  look  so  nice  in 
evening  clothes. 

DAVID.  Posibly  so,  Mother,  but  I  fear  I  should 
look  something  worldly,  too. 

(Exit  MRS.  BURROUGHS  L.) 

BURROUGHS.    Let's  have  no  nonsense  of  this  sort. 
A  clergyman  should  always  wear  clerical  clothes. 
MARY.     Except  in  bed,  perhaps? 
BURROUGHS.    Quite  so. 


THE   CHAMPION  13 

(BURROUGHS  exits  R.  and  MARY  exits  L.  DAVID 
crosses  to  R.  Enter  LADY  ELIZABETH  and  LORD 
BROCKINGTON  from  garden  c.  They  are  both 
in  riding  clothes.) 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Oh,  David 

DAVID.    Ah,  Lady  Elizabeth. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  This  is  my  cousin,  Lord  Brock- 
ington.  The  Reverend  David  Burroughs,  Freddy. 

BROCKINGTON.    How  are  you  ? 

DAVID.    How  d'ye  do,  my  Lord? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  My  cousin  is  visiting  in  the 
neighborhood  and  we  just  happened  to  meet.  I'm 
glad  we  found  you  here.  A  little  more  clerical  so- 
ciety wouldn't  do  Freddy  a  bit  of  harm.  (Crosses 
over  to  L.) 

DAVID.  Sweet  of  you  to  say  so ;  I'm  sure  my 
mother  would  be  charmed  if  you  will  stay  and  dine 
with  us,  my  Lord. 

BROCKINGTON.  Thanks,  but  I  really  must  toddle. 
Just  want  a  word  or  two  with  my  cousin. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  You  see,  Lord  Brockington  is 
not  only  my  cousin,  but  he's  the  trustee  of  my  es- 
tate— that  is — he  would  be  if  there  were  any  estate. 

DAVID.  Of  course,  if  you're  on  business  you  will 
excuse  me. 

BROCKINGTON.    Certainly. 

DAVID.    Quite  sure  you  won't  stay  to  dinner? 

BROCKINGTON.    Quite. 

DAVID.     Another  time,  perhaps. 

BROCKINGTON.    Perhaps. 

DAVID.  Er — er — charmed.  (Exit  DAVID  R. 
BROCKINGTON  laughs  loudly.) 

BROCKINGTON.  Really,  Betty — to  find  you  actu- 
ally visiting  these  blighters. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Freddy,  I'll  thank  you  not  to 
speak  of  my  hosts  like  that. 


14  THE  CHAMPION 

BROCKINGTON.  Couldn't  imagine  what  had  be- 
come of  you.  How  long  have  you  been  here? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    About  a  fortnight. 

BROCKINGTON.  I  hate  to  think  of  you  in  a  place 
like  this,  and  really,  I've  got  to  think  about  you. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  I  should  be  better  pleased  if 
you'd  think  about  getting  an  income  for  me  out  of 
my  property. 

BROCKINGTON.  Wish  I  could,  but  you  can't  get 
blood  out  of  a  stone. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  People  do  get  silver  out  of 
silver  mines ! 

BROCKINGTON.  That's  the  trouble.  They've  got 
it  all  out  of  yours — about  the  time  your  lamented 
papa  invested  his  last  shilling  in  it. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  (Sits  on  couch)  Poor  old 
dad!  Why  on  earth  did  he  do  it? 

BROCKINGTON.  Why,  it  was  just  a  last  gamble. 
He  was  all  in,  anyhow.  (Sits.)  + 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  And  he  thought  that  he  had 
provided  for  me.  But  the  mine  did  pay  dividends 
for  a  time. 

BROCKINGTON.  Oh,  yes — just  long  enough  to  get 
the  gullibles  in. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  You  really  think  there  is  no 
hope? 

BROCKINGTON.  Not  a  particle.  Didn't  I  travel 
all  the  way  to  Mexico  as  your  trustee  to  look  into 
the  matter? — and  a  rotten  trip  it  was,  too.  No,  my 
dear,  I  got  the  best  engineers  in  America  and  they 
all  agreed  the  mine's  worked  out. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  (Rises  and  crosses  to  c.) 
Well — that  being  the  case,  there  is  nothing  left  for 
me  to  do  but  to  continue  in  my  present  engagement. 

BROCKINGTON.  What  engagement?  You  don't 
mean  to  say  you're  working?  (LADY  ELIZABETH 
nods.  BROCKINGTON  rises.)  What! 


THE  CHAMPION  15 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  I  must  have  clothes,  and  a 
roof  over  my  head — and  I  must  eat ! 

BROCKINGTON.  But  good  heavens,  haven't  I 
offered  to  marry  you? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Well,  it's  awfully  good  of  you, 
Freddy — but  I'd  rather  sell  my  talents  than  my- 
self. 

BROCKINGTON.  And  may  I  ask  what  talents  you 
are  selling? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    I  am  a  social  chaperone. 

BROCKINGTON.    Good  Heavens! 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Shocking,  isn't  it? 

BROCKINGTON.  You  mean  you  are  going  to  boost 
these  people  into  society? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.     I'm  going  to  try.     (Cross  to 

R.; 

BROCKINGTON.  Ha!  This  is  rich — dashed  rich. 
So  you're  going  to  teach  'em  not  to  drop  their  h's  or 
use  the  fish-forks  with  the  roast  beef.  (L.  of  table.) 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Oh,  they're  not  that  sort  of 
outsiders. 

BROCKINGTON.    No? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Not  at  all.  The  mother's  a 
darling  and  the  little  girl  is  a  perfect  dear.  I  merely 
allow  it  to  be  known  that  I  am  visiting  them,  and  I 
tell  them  the  proper  charities  to  subscribe  to — the 
proper  places  to  be  seen  in — advise  them  as  to  tail- 
ors, modistes,  milliners  and  so  on.  Presently  I  shall 
take  them  to  call  on  some  good-natured  friend  of 
mine — Gladys  Somersby,  for  example.  I  know  she 
won't  mind.  The  poor  dear  is  as  broke  as  I  am.  I 
daresay  Gladys  will  even  return  their  call  if  I  ask 
her,  and — well — one  thing  will  lead  to  another — I 
shall  at  least  get  them  into  the  fringe  of  society.  Oh, 
I  don't  say  I  like  it,  but  I  don't  like  starving,  either. 
(Sits  R.) 

BROCKINGTON.  (L.  of  table)  There's  still  one 
more  way. 


16  THE   CHAMPION 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Is  there? 

BROCKINGTON.    Yes — marry  me. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Freddy! 

BROCKINGTON.    You  don't  dislike  me — do  you? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    No. 

BROCKINGTON.    In  love  with  anybody  else? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    No. 

BROCKINGTON.  Then  why  not  take  me  up  ?  You 
can't  stick  to  this  sort  of  thing.  You  know  it  makes 
you  sick.  Come  now,  doesn't  it? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    It's  not  exactly  pleasant. 

BROCKINGTON.    Well,  then,  say  yes. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.     No. 

BROCKINGTON.    No  ? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.     Yes. 

BROCKINGTON.    Which  is  it,  Betty? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    No. 

BROCKINGTON.    You're  making  a  grave  mistake. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.     Perhaps. 

BROCKINGTON.    You'll  be  sure  to  regret  it. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Perhaps. 

BROCKINGTON.    Betty 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Don't  think  I  don't  appreciate 
your  offer — I  do — but  it's  like  this — I  don't  happen 
to  love  you. 

BROCKINGTON.  But  we  could  jog  along  very  com- 
fortably. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  No,  Freddy,  it's  too  big  a 
risk. 

BROCKINGTON.    I'll  chance  it  if  you  will. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  (Rises)  No,  it's  no  good. 
(BROCKINGTON  crosses  to  L.)  It's  no  good! 

BROCKINGTON.  So — I  am  thrown  into  the  dis- 
card. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Don't  put  it  like  that. 

BROCKINGTON.  Well,  that's  the  long  and  short  of 
it.  Ha!  So  this  is  the  end  of  all  my  planning — 
all  my  patience — to  be  chucked  out  like  this. 


THE   CHAMPION  17 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Draw  it  easy,  old  man. 
BROCKINGTON.    Ha!    So  this  is  the  finish! 

(Enter  DAVID.    Crosses  slowly  to  R.c.J 

BROCKINGTON.  Betty,  shall  I  tell  you  what  you 
are — you're  a  beggar  on  horseback. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Freddy! 

BROCKINGTON.  Yes,  my  girl.  That's  what  you 

are — a  beggar  on  horseback,  and  some  day 

(Sees  DAVID.)  Well,  sir? 

DAVID.  (To  BROCKINGTONJ  Sorry  you  can't 
stay  to  dinner,  Lord  Brockington. 

BROCKINGTON.  Good  evening,  Lady  Elizabeth. 
(To  DAVID^  Good  evening.  (Exit  c.  to  L .) 

DAVID.     So,  that's  your  cousin? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Yes — that's  cousin  Freddy. 

DAVID.    Well,  one  can't  help  one's  relatives. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  (On  couch  L.J  No,  and  one's 
relatives  can't  help  one — or  won't.  Oh,  never  mind 
him.  Where's  everybody? 

DAVID.    Gone  to  dress  for  dinner. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Oh,  yes — you  don't  have  to, 
do  you? 

DAVID.    No. 

(Enter  WILLIAM  c.  from  R.) 

DAVID.  (R.)  Daresay  you're  right — though  I 
never  thought  of  it  before.  I  daresay  you're  right. 

WILLIAM.  Of  course  she's  right — if  I  may  say 
so. 

DAVID.    Well! 

WILLIAM.  Quite  well — thanks,  lovely  evening, 
isn't  it?  I'll  say  so.  Charming  sunset.  I  suppose 
you're  David.  Heard  you'd  entered  the  Church — 
see  you're  wearing  the  uniform. 


i8  THE   CHAMPION 

DAVID.  Who  are  you,  sir  ?  By  what  right  do  you 
intrude  like  this? 

WILLIAM.     Ever  read  about  the  prodigal  son? 

DAVID.    Really,  sir — I  must 

WILLIAM.  Sorry — beg  pardon — of  course  you 
have — being  a  clergyman.  Well,  I'm  him — he,  I 
mean — the  prodigal  son  of  the  family,  and  I've 
come  back.  Funny  thing  about  prodigals — they  al- 
ways come  back.  (To  LADY  ELIZABETH,)  Perhaps 
you've  noticed  it,  eh? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Can't  say  I  have. 

WILLIAM.  Possibly  you  haven't  known  many 
prodigals. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Yes,  I  have — but  those  I've 
known  always  stayed  at  home.  Everybody  wished 
they'd  go,  but  they  never  did. 

WILLIAM.  Well,  I  followed  the  Biblical  example. 
I  did  go — but  now  I'm  back. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Then  you  are  one  of  the  fam- 
ily? 

WILLIAM.  You  guessed  it.  I'll  say  so.  I'm  the 
Reverend  David's  very  unreverend  brother. 

DAVID.     What ! 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Really?  (To  DAVID )  Why, 
David,  you  never  told  me  you  had  another  brother. 

WILLIAM.  Hush,  hush — don't  start  anything. 
You  see,  I'm  the  sort  of  thing  one  doesn't  speak  of. 
I'm  the  picture  that  is  turned  toward  the  wall. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    The  picture  that  is — 

WILLIAM.  Sure — exactly.  I  am  the  blot  on  the 
'scutcheon — the  family  skeleton — don't  you  see? 
Hear  my  bones  rattle?  Funny  I  should  blow  in 
like  this,  isn't  it?  I  disappeared  through  that  iden- 
tical window  fifteen  years  ago.  (Offers  Jiis  hand 
to  DAVID  with  a  genial  smile.)  Shake,  Dave !  How 
are  you?  (DAVID  stares  at  him  blankly.)  Oh,  I'm 
William,  all  right— Willie— dear  old  Bill. 

DAVID.     I — I — don't  believe  it. 


THE   CHAMPION  19 

WILLIAM.  (With  a  chuckle  to  LADY  ELIZABETH) 
Doesn't  know  his  own  brother.  Well,  it's  not 
strange.  He  wasn't  very  big  when  I  dug  out.  Well, 
I'll  have  to  try  and  convince  him,  I  suppose.  Dave 
— do  you  remember  the  day  Farmer  Squeers  caught 
you  stealing  his  apples  and  had  you  over  his  knee, 
and  I  heard  you  squealing,  and 

DAVID.    No,  sir,  I  recall  no  such  occurrence. 

WILLIAM.  All  right,  then.  Have  to  try  again. 
Let  me  see.  Do  you  remember  the  time  you  upset 
grandmother's  bee-hive  ? 

DAVID.    Yes — I  do  remember  that. 

WILLIAM.  (Delighted — to  LADY  ELIZABETH^) 
Ah,  I  thought  he  wouldn't  forget  that.  I  tell  you, 
Miss — er — I  didn't  quite  catch  the  name  ? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    I  am  Elizabeth  Galtpn. 

WILLIAM.  Er — thanks — as  I  was  saying,  Miss 
Galton 

DAVID.  Lady — Lady  Elizabeth  Galton,  if  you 
please. 

WILLIAM.  (LADY  ELIZABETH  sits  on  couch  L,.) 
As  I  was  saying  about  those  bees,  Lady  Elizabeth, 
the  real  way  to  make  a  man  remember  you  is  to  sting 
him.  He  may  forget  the  benefits,  but  he  always 
remembers  the  stings.  So  you  see,  David,  I  really 
am  your  brother  Bill  who  ran  away  and  has  come 
home  again.  Gee !  Old  man,  but  I'm  awfully  glad 
to  see  you.  (He  seizes  the  reluctant  hand  of  DAVID 
and  wrings  it  heartily.  DAVID  writhes  with  pain.) 
What  appears  to  be  the  matter? 

DAVID.  Why — er — why  have  you  come  home 
again  ? 

WILLIAM.  To  see  the  folks — to  see  the  folks-1- 
Heaven  and  earth,  why  not? 

DAVID.  This  will  be  a  dreadful  shock  to  my 
father  and  mother. 

WILLIAM.  Look  here  now,  they're  my  father  and 
mother,  too,  you  know.  I'll  risk  it,  if  you  will. 


20  THE   CHAMPION 

DAVID.    But  it's  so  surprising — so  unexpected. 

WILLIAM.  Well,  I'll  tell  you — I  meant  to  walk 
right  up  and  pull  the  old  bell,  but  when  I  saw  the 
house  I  found  I'd  lost  the  front-door  habit.  Coming 
up  the  drive,  I  suddenly  felt — well — just  like  a  bad 
boy  who  had  stayed  out  all  night — and  was  going  to 
get  the  dickens  for  it. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Well,  you  had  stayed  out  all 
night,  hadn't  you? 

WILLIAM.  I'll  say  so.  I  thought  it  would  be 
sort  of  droll  to  come  back  through  that  same  old 
window.  It  is  rather  amusing,  isn't  it?  (They 
laugh.) 

LADY  ELIZABETH.     Very. 

DAVID.    I  think — it's  very  disturbing1. 

WILLIAM.  You  seem  to  be  a  little  weak  on  the 
humorous  side,  don't  you?  Still  I  do  think  you 
might  be  a  little  glad  to  see  your  long-lost  brother. 

DAVID.    Oh,  of  course,  I  am  glad. 

WILLIAM.  Well,  look  it,  look  it — for  God's  sake, 
look  it ! 

DAVID.  Of  course,  I'm  awfully  relieved  to  know 
you're  alive  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 

WILLIAM.  Oh,  yes,  I'm  alive  and  kicking — at 
least  I'm  alive  and  you're  kicking. 

DAVID.    But  it's  really  most  disturbing. 

WILLIAM.  Why,  what's  the  matter — aren't  they 
all  well? 

DAVID.    Oh — yes — yes. 

WILLIAM.  That's  fine.  And  now  perhaps  you'll 
go  and  break  it  to  father.  Be  gentle  with  him — 
they  say  that  joy  doesn't  kill — but  we  mustn't  take 
any  chances. 

DAVID.  You  should  have  thought  of  that  before. 
Why  didn't  you  write? 

WILLIAM.  Because  he  might  have  forbidden  me 
to  come  and  you  know  how  I  always  hated  to  dis- 
obey him.  I  always  did  it,  but  I  hated  it. 


THE   CHAMPION  21 

DAVID.    I — I  really  don't  know  what  to  do. 

WILLIAM.  That's  why  I'm  telling  you.  Ah,  go 
along,  like  a  good  fellow.  (He  takes  DAVID  by  the 
arm  and  propels  him  to  the  door  at  R.)  Come,  come, 
he  can't  do  anything  to  you.  You  didn't  bring  me 
here,  you  know- 


DAVID.    But  really  I- 


'  WILLIAM.  Oh— that's  all  right— that's  all  right. 
(He  pushes  DAVID  through  door  R.J 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  (Sitting  on  couch  L..)  I  see 
you  know  how  to  manage  the  clergy. 

WILLIAM.  No — only  small  brothers.  (There  is 
a  pause.) 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  You  can't  quite  place  me  here, 
can  you? 

WILLIAM.    Well,  not  quite. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    I'm  just  a  visitor. 

WILLIAM.    Friend  of  the  family? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Why,  I  suppose  so. 

WILLIAM.  Not — er — engaged  to  anybody  here- 
abouts ? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    No — not  yet. 

WILLIAM.    Er — you'll  pardon  my  abruptness? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Of  course. 

WILLIAM.  You  see,  I'm  an  American  now  and 
Americans  go  straight  to  the  point.  Now,  I'd  like 
to  get  my  bearings  about  the  old  place,  and  so — 
er 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Of  course.  Ask  me  anything 
you  please. 

WILLIAM.  That's  bully  of  you.  (Takes  chair 
from  L.  of  table  R.  to  c.  and  sits  facing  LADY  ELIZA- 
BETH. )  Now,  tell  me,  Lady  Elizabeth — what  kind 
of  a  lady  are  you? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  In  me  you  see  a  poor  but  hon- 
est noblewoman — daughter  of  the  Marquis  of  Duns- 
borough,  lately  deceased  in  a  state  of  poverty  only 
to  be  described  as  pitiable.  The  only  bit  of  luck 


22  THE   CHAMPION 

I've  had  lies  in  the  fact  that  I  did  not  inherit  my 
father's  debts — my  brother  'did  that,  poor  fellow. 
Pretty  rough  on  him. 

WILLIAM.    I  didn't  mean  to  be  inquisitive. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Oh,  that's  all  right.  All  Eng- 
land knows  it — why  shouldn't  you? 

WILLIAM.  Well,  then,  tell  me — you  know  my 
people  awfully  well,  I  suppose. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Not  very. 

WILLIAM.  You  know  them  better  than  I  do — at 
all  events.  Tell  me  about  them. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Well — you'll  like  your  sister. 

WILLIAM.  God  bless  my  soul !  That'll  be  Mary. 
Almost  a  woman,  isn't  she  ?  Good  Lord ! 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    She's  a  darling. 

WILLIAM.    (Delighted)    You  don't  say  so ! 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    I  do  say  so. 

WILLIAM.    Is  she  dark  or  fair? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Oh,  dark — with  big,  soft 
brown  eyes. 

WILLIAM.    You  don't  say  so! 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    I  do  say  so. 

WILLIAM.    Big  or  little? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Oh,  quite  petite — and  gentle. 
Oh,  she's  a  lamb. 

WILLIAM.    You  don't  say  so! 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Why  do  you  keep  saying  I 
don't  say  so  when  I  do  say  so  ? 

WILLIAM.  I  don't  know.  Silly,  isn't  it?  Well, 
well,  that's  fine.  I  hoped  she'd  be  nice.  Kind  of 
thought  she  would.  She  was  a  sweet  baby,  but  then, 
so  was  I — and  look  at  the  darn  thing  now !  (Laughs.) 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Now  that  I  think  of  it,  your 
sister  looks  a  little  like  you. 

WILLIAM.  God  help  her.  I  suppose  you  live  in 
London  ? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Oh,  yes — part  of  the  year. 

WILLIAM.     Pretty  good  place,  London — not  as 


THE   CHAMPION  23 

fine  as  New  York,  of  course — but  not  bad.  Can't 
see  what  you're  doing  in  a  place  like  Knotley,  when 
you  might  be  in  London. 

LA^Y  ELIZABETH.    You'll  see  soon  enough. 

WILLIAM.  (Rises  and  walks  back  of  stage) 
Sleepy  old  place.  When  Gabriel  blows  his  trumpet 
the  sleepers  of  Knotley  are  surely  going  to  regard  it 
as  an  impertinence.  Sleepy,  conservative,  monoton- 
ous, dusty,  beautiful  old  place.  Nothing  seems  to 
have  changed  much  since  I  left  the  place,  as  a  boy. 
(Looks  round  the  room.)  Might  have  left  it  only 
yesterday.  Crept  downstairs  in  the  middle  of  the 
night — what  do  you  suppose  was  the  last  thing  I 
did? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    How  could  I  guess? 

WILLIAM.  You  couldn't,  of  course.  Well,  I 
stood  here  for  a  second,  looking  around  the  old 
place  for  the  last  time — there  was  a  lump  in  my 
throat  about  the  size  of  a  baseball — I  can  feel  it  yet. 
I  kind  of  hated  to  leave  the  old  place  without  some- 
thing of  me  still  here.  Same  kind  of  feeling  a  kid 
has  when  he  wants  to  carve  his  initials  on  things. 
No  matter  how  much  a  boy  has  hated  his  school  he 
always  wants  to  leave  his  initials  on  the  desk.  Well, 
I  didn't  have  time  to  do  any  carving  just  then.  So 
I  took  a  little  kodak  snapshot  of  myself  in  my  pocket, 
I  tiptoed  over  to  the  fireplace  and  hid  it  in  a  crevice 
behind  the  mantelpiece.  I  wonder  if  it's  there  still! 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  (Rises  and  crosses  to  c.)  Oh, 
do  look  and  see. 

(WILLIAM  goes  over  to  fireplace.    Ad.  lib.  until  he 
finds  photograph  and  blows  off  dust.) 

WILLIAM.  Well,  what  do  you  know  about  that? 
Here  it  is — little  faint — but  I  guess  you  can  make  it 
out.  (Shows  it  to  her.) 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Hm !    What  a  funny  face ! 


24  THE   CHAMPION 

WILLIAM.  Yes,  and  I  suppose  it's  just  as  funny 
now. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon — I  only 
meant 

WILLIAM.  No  apologies  needed — I  never  did  get 
myself  mixed  up  much  with  Apollo.  But  I  wasn't 
thinking  how  I  looked  just  then.  Right  through 
that  window  I  went — moon  high  in  the  sky — not  a 
sound  in  the  world — heart  full  of  hopes — head  full 
of  romance — hands  full  of  boots 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Boots  on  your  hands? 

WILLIAM.     Didn't  want  to  wake  anybody. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Why  did  you  run  away? 

WILLIAM.  I  thought  you  knew  my  father.  (LADY 
ELIZABETH  smiles  and  sits  in  chair  c.)  That's  the 
answer — incompatibility  of  temper.  Father  never 
talked  with  me.  He  orated  at  me  like  the  late  Mr. 
Gladstone  or  William  Jennings  Bryan.  It  was  fierce. 
Platitudes,  copybook  maxims,  avalanches  of  them. 
Wanted  me  to  be  a  clergyman — I  was  to  start  by 
taking  a  class  in  Sunday  school  and  doing  district 
visiting  among  his  mill-workers.  I  hated  it  like 

hell Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon — I  mean  I  didn't 

quite  like  it.  But  he  kept  nagging  at  me.  And 
when  my  dear  mother  began  to  pray  for  me — I  was 
afraid  I  was  doomed  to  spend  the  rest  of  my  life 
in  a  black  coat  and  a  shovel  hat  and — well,  I  just 
couldn't  stand  it.  So  I  beat  it. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Beat  it? 

WILLIAM.    Skedaddled — vamoosed — you  know. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Eh?    What? 

WILLIAM.  Departed — went — lit  out — without 
farewell  or  explanation  to  papa.  And  I'll  make  you 
a  little  bet  that  when  I  see  papa  the  first  thing  he 
will  do  will  be  to  demand  an  explanation.  He  was 
always  demanding  explanations,  usually  from  the 
hearth  rug.  He  used  to  stand  on  that  hearth  rug— 


THE   CHAMPION  25 

(Indicating  nog  R.) — and  demand  explanations  by 
the  hour. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    And  after  you  "beat  it"? 

WILLIAM.     Well,  I  walked  to  Liverpool — sailed 
before  the  mast  for  Australia,  thence  to  San  Fran, 
cisco — finally  settled  in  the  United  States,  usually 
referred  to  by  the  inhabitants  as  God's  own  country. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Is  it  quite  that? 

WILLIAM.    Well — it's  a  pretty  good  place. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  You  must  have  had  rather  a 
lonely  life. 

WILLIAM.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  One  hundred  million 
others  over  there. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  How  did  you  live?  Did  you 
teach  English  to  the  Americans? 

WILLIAM.  No.  They  think  they  speak  it  already 
— and  some  of  them  do,  in  spite  of  immigration. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  And  you  have  succeeded  in 
America,  I  hope? 

WILLIAM.  Well,  I  have,  I  fear,  inherited  my 
father's  talent  for  oratory,  and  anybody  with  the 
gift  of  gab  can  get  along  in  America.  They're  a 
good-natured  race. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  They  seem  to  be.  (Rise  and 
cross  to  L.  and  slowly  around  piano.) 

WILLIAM,  (c.)  Shouldn't  wonder  if  you'll  think 
it  awfully  crude  and  American  of  me — but  the  fact 
is  I've  taken  an  instantaneous  liking  to  you. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Thanks,  so  much. 

WILLIAM.     It's  probably  happened  to  you  before. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Perhaps. 

WILLIAM.  I'll  say  so.  (Puts  chair  back  L.  of 
table  R.j  The  point  is,  I've  got  a  kind  of  a  hunch 
I'm  going  to  need  a  friend  or  two  before  long. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Really? 

WILLIAM.  I'd  like  to  be  on  your  waiting  list  of 
friends. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Waiting  list? 


26  THE  CHAMPION 

WILLIAM.  Sort  of  on  probation — to  be  admitted 
to  full  and  regular  standing  if  and  when  I  make 
good. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Oh,  I  see.  And  am  I  to  be 
put  on  your  waiting  list,  too? 

WILLIAM.  Not  you.  You're  elected  at  first  sight. 
But  I  don't  expect  you  to  admit  me  all  at  once  to 
your  friendship.  You  don't  know  anything  about 
me — and  then  you're  English. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    You're  as  English  as  I  am. 

WILLIAM.    Yes,  but  I  got  over  it. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  That  doesn't  sound  very  com- 
plimentary. (Crosses  to  front  of  sofa.) 

WILLIAM.    You  know  what  I  mean,  don't  you? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Yes,  but  after  all,  I  can't  very 
well  be  less  generous  than  you. 

WILLIAM.     Eh? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  (In  front  of  sofa)  If  you 
insist  on  making  a  friend  of  me  at  first  sight,  I  don't 
see  how  I  can  do  less,  do  you  ? 

WILLIAM.     Do  you  mean  it? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.     Of  course. 

WILLIAM.  (Takes  her  hand)  Shake,  Lady  Eliza- 
beth. This  is  simply  corking.  (Sits  on  sofa  beside 
her.)  I — I  don't  believe  you  ever  did  such  a  thing 
before  in  your  life.  It's  immense.  Ten  minutes  ago 
you  never  heard  of  me,  and  look  at  us  now.  (Enter 
ANTOINETTE  R.J  It's  great! 

LADY  ELIZABETH.     (Smiling)    Isn't  it? 

ANTOINETTE.  Oh,  pardon!  I  fear  I  am  intrud- 
ing. (WILLIAM  rises.)  But  it  really  is  very  late, 
milady,  and  you  are  not  yet  dressed  for  dinner. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Heavens!  I'd  forgotten  how 
late  it  was.  (Rises.)  Mademoiselle,  this  is  Mr. 
William  Burroughs — Miss  Mary's  brother.  (Goes 
around  piano  L.) 

(WILLIAM   and   ANTOINETTE  shake  hands.     She 


THE  CHAMPION  27 

shows  by  slightly  wringing  her  hand  that  his 
grip  has  been  strong.) 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  (To  WILLIAM )  Mademoiselle 
is  teaching  your  sister  French.  (To  ANTOINETTE^ 
Mr.  Burroughs  has  just  come  home  after  a  long 
absence. 

ANTOINETTE.    Ah,  Monsieur! 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  And  he's  been  so  interesting 
that  the  time  just  flew. 

WILLIAM.    It  sure  did. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  I'll  say  so.  (She  smiles  at  him 
and  exits  L.) 

WILLIAM.  (L.C.,  turns  and  finds  ANTOINETTE  at 
his  side.)  So  you — teach  things  to  my  little  sister  ? 

ANTOINETTE.  Ah,  oui — French — Italian  and  the 
piano. 

WILLIAM.    You're  from  Paris,  of  course. 

ANTOINETTE.    Bien  sur! 

WILLIAM.  Nice  place,  Paris — riot  so  good  as  New 
York,  of  course.  Still,  it's  a  great  town,  I'll  say. 
How  do  you  stand  this  place  after  Paris?  • 

ANTOINETTE.  One  has  no  choice  when  one  has  to 
teach  things  for  a  living. 

WILLIAM.    That's  right,  too. 

ANTOINETTE.  And  then  I  like  your  little  sister 
very,  very  much. 

WILLIAM.  I'm  awfully  glad  to  hear  that.  I  ex- 
pect to  like  her  a  whole  lot  myself. 

ANTOINETTE.  I  should  think  so.  Mademoiselle 
Marie,  she  is  tres  gentille.  (The  following  speech  is 
spoken  in  French)  She  is  so  like  the  Springtime — 
so  full  of  grace  and  charm  and  so  kind  and  gener- 
ous and  thoughtful  of  everybody,  etc.,  etc. 

WILLIAM.     I'll  say  so. 

ANTOINETTE.    Monsieur,  he  speak  French? 

WILLIAM.    No — sorry. 

ANTOINETTE.    Oh,  well,  your  little  sister  and  me, 


28  THE  CHAMPION 

we  are  great  friends  and  I  do  my  most  best  to  teach 
her  everything  what  I  know. 

WILLIAM.  I'm  sure  you  do.  I'll  bet  on  it.  You 
know  there  are  a  lot  of  things  a  generous  person 
like  you  can  give  that  no  amount  of  money  can  pay 
for,  and  I  am  just  as  sure  as  I  can  be  that  you've 
given  a  lot  of  them  to  my  little  sister.  (Pats  her  on 
cheek.)  And  I'm  awfully — awfully  grateful  to  you. 

(Enter  MR.  BURROUGHS,  followed  by  GEORGE  and 
DAVID  R.  They  are  dressed  for  dinner.  MR. 
BURROUGHS  comes  down  R.  GEORGE  c.  and 
DAVID  works  over  to  L J 

WILLIAM.  (Holding  out  hand  to  MR.  BUR- 
ROUGHS) My  dear  father 

BURROUGHS.  (Putting  hands  behind  his  back) 
Mademoiselle,  I  will  trouble  you  to  leave  the  room. 

ANTOINETTE.    Oui,  Monsieur.    (Exits  L.) 

WILLIAM.    Well,  Father,  how  are  you? 

(MR.  BURROUGHS  does  not  speak  or  move.) 

WILLIAM.  (Turns  to  GEORGE,)  Well,  George, 
perhaps  you  won't  mind? 

GEORGE.  (Hesitates,  looks  at  MR.  BURROUGHS, 
then  shakes  hands  with  WILLIAM.)  Ah — how  do 
you  do  ?  (They  shake  hands — GEORGE  squirms  and 
wrings  his  hand.) 

BURROUGHS.     One  moment. 

WILLIAM.  There's  nothing  poisonous  on  my 

hand,  really.  David (The  three  just  look  at 

him.)  Well,  here  I  am,  you  see.  Back  in  England, 
after  all  these  years — beautiful  England — home 
again — the  end  of  a  perfect  day.  Little  sultry,  isn't 
it? 

BURROUGHS.    I  demand  an  explanation. 

WILLIAM.    I  knew  it! 


THE   CHAMPION  29 

BURROUGHS.  I  have  sent  word  to  your  mother 
that,  before  I  shall  allow  her  to  see  you,  I  shall,  as 
a  matter  of  principle,  be  compelled  to  demand  a 
complete • 

WILLIAM.  Explanation.  I  know — all  right.  Let's 
all  sit  down  and  have  a  nice,  friendly  little  chat. 
(Sits  on  chair  L.  of  table.  GEORGE  sits  on  R.  of 
couch.  DAVID  sits  on  L.  of  couch.) 

BURROUGHS.  (Standing)  I  am  not  referring  to 
a  friendly  little  chat,  sir.  For  years  you  leave  me 
in  total  ignorance  of  your  whereabouts — of  your 
very  existence — and  then  you  return  in  this  prepos- 
terous fashion — stealing  in  through  a  window 

WILLIAM.  No — no.  Draw  the  line  there.  Never 
stole  anything  in  my  life.  (Rises.)  Except  away. 
I  will  admit  that,  when  I  went  I  stole  away.  (Bus. 
with  GEORGE  and  DAVID.J 

BURROUGHS.  (Who  has  unconsciously  taken  up 
his  usual  oratorical  post  on  the  hearth  rug)  At  all 
events,  sir,  you 

WILLIAM.     That's  right,  Father — on  the  rug. 

(^BURROUGHS  steps  off  rug.) 

WILLIAM.  I  went  away  because  I  thought  it  best 
for  both  of  us. 

BURROUGHS.  Much  thought  you've  ever  had  for 
me  or  your  mother  either. 

WILLIAM,  Honestly,  Father,  don't  you  really 
think  you  have  been  happier  without  me  than  you 
would  have  been  with  me.  See  how  well  every- 
thing has  worked  out.  David  becomes  the  parson. 
I  don't  know  how  good  a  parson  he  is,  but  no  mat- 
ter how  bad,  he's  better  than  the  one  I  should  have 
made. 

DAVID.    I  expect  some  day  to  be  a  Bishop. 

WILLIAM.    Gee — that's  great!    And  I  see  that — 


30  THE  CHAMPION 

(Looking  at  poster  on  wall) — good  old  George  is  in 
politics. 

GEORGE.  Yes,  sir,  and  some  day  I  may  be  Prime 
Minister — no  one  knows.  - 

WILLIAM.  That's  right.  No  one  knows.  And 
I  see  you  are  a  conservative,  too  ? 

GEORGE.    Naturally,  sir — naturally! 

WILLIAM.  Oh,  very  naturally.  Well,  Father, 
that  pleases  you — while  I — well — there's  nothing 
conservative  about  me.  Don't  you  see  how  it's  all 
worked  out  for  the  best  ?  I  should  have  always  been 
a  thorn  in  your  flesh,  whereas  I  daresay  good  old 
George  and  David  represent  your  views  completely. 
Yes — now  that  I  look  at  them,  I'm  quite  sure  they 
do. 

BURROUGHS.  I'm  very  proud  of  your  brothers, 
sir.  They  are  a  great  satisfaction  to  me. 

WILLIAM.  My  dear  father — they  look  it.  (Read- 
ing poster)  "Vote  for  George  Burroughs,  Esquire 
— the  Conservative  Candidate  for  Knotley" — Afraid 
you're  on  the  wrong  side,  George. 

GEORGE.    Wrong  side,  sir? 

WILLIAM.  The  plain  people  are  bound  to  land  on 
top.  It's  the  handwriting  on  the  wall.  The  tide  of 
democracy  is  rising  and  the  man  who  tries  to  dam 
it  will  be  damned. 

BURROUGHS.  This  is  ridiculous,  treasonable  non- 
sense you  are  talking,  sir !  (Furious.) 

DAVID.    Sounds  to  me  like  Socialism. 

GEORGE.     I  think  the  fellow's  mad. 

WILLIAM.  Oh,  no — it's  the  stand-patters  who've 
gone  bughouse.  (Sits.) 

DAVID.    Bughouse  ? 

GEORGE.     Stand-patters  ? 

WILLIAM.  Yes,  stand-patters — an  American  ex- 
pression for  a  politician  who,  right  or  wrong,  says, 
"Here  I  stand  until  the  cows  come  home  to  roost." 


THE   CHAMPION  31 

BURROUGHS.  Do  you  or  do  you  not  intend  to  give 
an  account  of  yourself,  sir? 

WILLIAM.    Account? 

BURROUGHS.  I  said  account!  You  disappear 
from  my  roof-tree — then  follow  fifteen  years  of 
silence — then  out  of  the  silence  you  return  appar- 
ently expecting  to  be  welcomed  with  rejoicing. 

WILLIAM.  Certainly!  Prodigal  son!  Fatted 
calf,  sir.  David  will  tell  you  that. 

BURROUGHS.  For  all  I  know,  your  life  may  have 
been  disgraceful.  I  don't  know.  What  have  you 
been  doing?  I  don't  know.  What  is  your  status  in 
life?  I  don't  know.  Are  you  a  banker  or  a  burg- 
lar? I  don't  know. 

WILLIAM.  Well,  sir — there  is  something  in  what 
you  say.  (Rises.)  Briefly,  at  times,  I  have  had 
some  success,  but  recently — very  recently — I  have 
had  disappointments — something  for  which  I  hoped 
— people  on  whom  I  rather  depended,  have — well — 
I  have  been  disappointed. 

BURROUGHS.  Ah — as  I  expected.  Now  that  your 
plans  have  gone  awry — now  that  your  life  is  a  fail- 
ure, you  crawl  back  here!  Oh,  sir — have  you  no 
sense  of  shame?  4 

GEORGE.  (Rises  and  crosses  to  WILLIAM)  Do 
you  intend  telling  us  where  you  have  been  all  these 
years  ? 

WILLIAM.    Well,  I  haven't  been  in  jail. 

BURROUGHS.  Why  did  you  never  communicate 
with  me,  sir? 

WILLIAM.  Well,  at  first  I'd  nothing  to  say  ex- 
cept that  I  was  broke — and  I  didn't  think  that  would 
interest  you  much.  You  see  I  was  a  sailor.  (DAVID 
rises.) 

GEORGE.    Ah — an  officer  on  a  ship. 

WILLIAM.  No — George,  dear — just  a  sailor — yor-, 
know — a  chap  that  pulls  ropes — gets  the  scurvy — 
and  says,  "Aye,  aye,  sir,"  when  the  mate  kicks  him. 


?2  THE   CHAMPION 

DAVID.     A  common  sailor  ? 

WILLIAM.     Rather  uncommon,  I'm  afraid. 

BURROUGHS.  Have  you  ever  had  any  sort  of  de- 
cent, gentlemanly  occupation? 

WILLIAM.  Nothing  indecent  about  work,  is 
there  ?  In  fact,  I  think  it  would  do  George  a  lot 
of  good  if  he  had  to  work  a  while  with  a  pick-axe 
and  shovel  as  I  have  done. 

GEORGE.     A  working  man? 

WILLIAM.     Yes,  George,  I'm  a  worker. 

DAVID.    A  manual  laborer?    Good  Heavens! 

GEORGE.     Deuced  awkward,  I  call  it. 

WILLIAM.  Mistake  to  despise  the  working  man 
nowadays,  George — he  has  most  of  the  votes. 

BURROUGHS.  Enough  of  this !  He  may  have  been 
a  laborer  in  his  time — he  is  not  now,  of  course. 
What  he  is,  God  knows.  Apparently  I  am  never  to 
know.  (He  sits  in  chair  R.  GEORGE  and  DAVID  re- 
sume their  seats  on  couch.)  But  his  object  in  com- 
ing home  is  clear  enough. 

WILLIAM.  Certainly,  prodigal  son,  fatted  calf! 
Surely  you  remember,  David.  Suppose  you  tell  him. 
It's  quite  in  your  line. 

DAVID.     I  don't  understand  you. 

WILLIAM.  Really!  Must  I  quote  Scripture  to  a 
future  Bishop?  Very  well,  then — here  goes:  "But 
the  father  said  to  his  servants,  'Bring  forth  the  best 
robe,  and  put  it  on  him,  and  put  a  ring 'on  his  hand 
and  shoes  on  his  feet,  and  bring  hither  the  fatted 
calf  and  kill  it,  and  let  us  eat  and  be  merry,  for 
this,  my  son,  was  dead  and  is  alive  again ;  he  was 
lost  and  is  found/  and  they  began  to  be  merry." 
(Looks  at  the  gloomy  three.)  And  they  began  to  be 
merry.  (Pause.)  What  did  you  say,  Father? 

BURROUGHS.  Sir,  we  want  none  of  your  blas- 
phemies here.  I  say  your  object  in  coming  home 
is  all  too  clear. 

WILLIAM.    Certainly,  Father.    The  fatted  calf ! 


THE   CHAMPION  33 

BURROUGHS.  Exactly.  In  other  words,  black- 
mail. (GEORGE  and  DAVID  rise.) 

GEORGE.  (Crosses  to  R.C.J  Blackmail,  I  say, 
Pater. 

DAVID.    Blackmail  ? 

WILLIAM.     Did  you  say  blackmail? 

BURROUGHS.  Out  with  it — how  much  do  you 
want  ? 

WILLIAM.     What? 

BURROUGHS.  Why  beat  about  the  bush?  How 
much  will  you  take  to  go  away  and  never  come 
back?  Come — come — let's  have  it. 

GEORGE.     I  say,  Pater- 


DAVID.     Father,  really- 


BURROUGHS.  Be  silent !  The  thing's  clear  enough. 
He  knows  that  your  brother  George  is  running  for 
Parliament  as  a  conservative.  He  knows  how  dis- 
astrous it  would  be  if  it  gets  about  the  constituency 
that  I  have  a  socialistic  son — oh,  he's  shrewd  enough. 
He  has  bided  his  time.  Very  well,  I'll  pay — I  can 
do  that — thank  God,  and  so  I  say  again,  How  much 
do  you  want  ? 

WILLIAM.     Father! 

(Enter  MRS.  BURROUGHS  L,.) 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Willie! 

WILLIAM.  (Seeing  her)  Mother!  (He  goes  to 
her  and  takes  her  in  his  arms.)  Mother ! 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Oh,  my  dear,  you  have  come 
home  at  last! 

WILLIAM.    Yes,  yes,  Mother,  here  I  am. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  I — I  always  knew  you  would. 
Oh — I'm  so  glad — so  glad !  (She  weeps.) 

WILLIAM.  There — there — Mother  dearest — don't 
cry.  (They  sit  on  couch  L.J 

BURROUGHS.  Jane,  you  have  disregarded  my 
wishes. 


34  THE   CHAMPION 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  I  know,  dear — I  know,  but — 
I — well,  I  just  couldn't  wait  any  longer. 

WILLIAM.  Fifteen  years  was  long  enough  to  wait 
— wasn't  it,  Mother? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Oh,  too  long — too  long — let 
me  have  a  good  look  at  you.  My  Willie !  Oh,  it's 
good  to  see  you ! 

WILLIAM.     It's  great,  isn't  it? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  And  you're  all  right — aren't 
you? 

WILLIAM.    Yes,  yes. 

MRS.  BURROGHS.  I  knew  you  would  be — but  your 
father  always  said  he  was  sure  you  would  come 
to  a  bad  end. 

BURROUGHS.    Never  mind  what  I  said ! 

MRS.  BURROGHS.  (Rises  and  crosses  to  R.cJ  But 
John,  dear,  you  know  you  did  say  it.  (Bus.  with 
BURROUGHS.  To  WILLIAM. )  What  church  have  you 
been  attending,  Willie? 

WILLIAM.     No  particular  church,  Mother. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  But  all  churches  are  particu- 
lar, aren't  they?  (BURROUGHS  raps  on  table — bus. 
MRS.  BURROUGHS  to  WILLIAM)  I'm  afraid  dinner 
is  awfully  late,  and  when  that  happens  your  father 
always  gets  so  irritated.  (BURROUGHS  raps  louder 
on  table.)  Why,  you're  not  dressed  for  dinner, 
Willie ! 

WILLIAM.    My  glad  rags  aren't  here,  Mother. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Glad  rags? 

WILLIAM.    My  evening  clothes,  Mother. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Are  they  in  rags?  I'm  so 
sorry! 

WILLIAM.    No — no.    They're  in  my  grip. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Grip? 

WILLIAM.  My  baggage — I  mean  my  luggage — I 
left  it  at  the  Blue  Cow. 

BURROUGHS.    Blue  Cow? 


THE   CHAMPION  35 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Your  father  doesn't  like  the 
Blue  Cow. 

BURROUGHS.    A  very  undesirable  place,  sir. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  You  see,  Mr.  Mooney,  who 
keeps  the  Blue  Cow,  is  a  great  trial  to  your  father. 
He's  a  Socialist — and,  of  course,  anti-prohibition — 
and  your  father  is  an  ardent  prohibitionist. 

WILLIAM.    Of  course. 

BURROUGHS.  (Looking  at  watch)  Jane — aren't 
those  girls  dressed  for  dinner  yet — eh — eh — eh? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  John,  dear,  you  won't  mind — 
just  for  once — if  Willie  hasn't  his  evening  clothes 
for  dinner. 

GEORGE.  Beastly  awkward.  Lady  Elizabeth  will 
think  it  deucedly  curious.  (To  WILLIAM,)  Lady 
Elizabeth  Galton,  you  know.  She  is  related  to  the 
Archbishop  of  York. 

WILLIAM.    You  don't  say  so. 

DAVID.  She  is  the  daughter  of  the  Marquis  of 
Dunsborough. 

WILLIAM.    Well — well — well. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    And  our  guest  at  present. 

WILLIAM.     Yes,  Mother. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  If  your  clothes  were  only  a 
little  darker,  dear. 

GEORGE.  I  do  think  William  might  respect  the 
customs  of  polite  society.  (Goes  up.) 

MR.  BURROUGHS.  I  shall  demand  that  he  respect 
them  while  he  remains  beneath  my  roof -tree. 

WILLIAM.     Roof-tree ! 

(Enter  MARY  L.  She  stands  an  instant  looking  at 
WILLIAM  and  then  runs  and  throws  herself  into 
his  arms.) 

MARY,    Willie ! 

BURROUGHS.    Mary ! 

MARY.    (Fearing  she  has  made  a  mistake,  swiftly 


36  THE  CHAMPION 

releases  herself  from  WILLIAM'S  arms.)  Isn't  it 
Willie? 

WILLIAM.  Oh,  yes,  it's  Willie,  all  right.  My 
little  sister — what  a  darling  you  are ! 

MARY.  My  big  brother  Willie!  They  said  you 
were  lost — and  you've  come  back.  I'm  awfully — 
awfully  glad ! 

WILLIAM.  So  am  I.  You've  given  me  an  awfully 
jolly  welcome — you  and  mother. 

MARY.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad !  Father,  isn't  it  splen- 
did? 

BURROUGHS.  Quite  so.  Quite  so.  Jane!  Are 
we  ever  going  to  dine? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  David — will  you  take  Willie 
to  your  room  ?  .  (To  WILLIAM,)  After  your  long 
journey  from  America,  I  am  sure  you  will  be  glad 
to  wash  your  hands. 

WILLIAM.     I  washed  them  in  London — still — 

MARY.  I'll  take  him,  Mother.  Come  along,  Willie 
— I  want  you  to  tell  me  all  about  America. 

WILLIAM.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  America  while 
we're  washing  my  hands.  (They  cross  to  L.j 

MARY.  Willie — is  America  so  very  much  bigger 
than  England? 

WILLIAM.  You  could  put  the  whole  of  England 
into  the  Bronx.  (They  exit  L.J 

BURROUGHS.  Ha !  Delightful  dinner  we're  going 
to  have,  I  must  say  ! 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Now,  John,  really,  I  do  hope 
you'll  make  an  effort  to  be  agreeable. 

MR.  BURROUGHS.  Make  an  effort — make  an  ef- 
fort— I  trust  I  shall  never  have  to  make  an  effort 
to  be  agreeable.  But  to  have  my  entire  household 

upset  in  this  manner- (Enter  SIMMONS  R.J 

Well,  Simmons? 

SIMMONS.     Mr.  Mooney,  sir. 

BURROUGHS.     What? 

SIMMONS.    Yes,  sir. 


THE   CHAMPION  37 

BURROUGHS.    What  Mooney? 
SIMMONS.    Of  the  Blue  Cow,  sir. 
BURROUGHS.     That   person!     What   impudence! 
Inform  him  that  I  am  not  at  home. 

(Enter  MOONEY  R.     Rushes  past  SIMMONS.     SIM- 
MONS exits.     GEORGE  crosses  to  ~&.) 

MOONEY.  Sorry  to  be  intruding,  Mr.  Burroughs, 
but  faith,  there's  no  time  to  lose. 

BURROUGHS.    Eh  ? 

MOONEY.  Mr.  Burroughs — do  you  know  you 
have  a  thief  in  your  house? 

BURROUGHS  and  GEORGE.  (Together)  What? 
A  thief  in  the  house — what  nonsense! 

DAVID.     Impossible ! 

MOONEY.  He  was  seen  entering  your  garden. 
He  didn't  come  out  and  he  ain't  there  now — so  he 
must  be  in  the  house. 

BURROUGHS.  What  on  earth  are  you  talking 
about  ? 

MOONEY.  Well,  sir — this  is  the  way  of  it.  I  come 
home  just  now,  and  I'm  told  a  lot  of  my  silver  has 
been  stolen  off  the  place.  There  was  a  stranger 
come  to  the  inn  this  evening — hangs  about  a  bit — 
and  then  disappears — leaving  a  portmanteau  that's 
got  only  some  clothes  in  it.  My  cashier  says  this 
man  acts  kind  of  like  as  if  he 'was  lost,  or  some- 
thing, but  she  didn't  pay  much  attention  and  pres- 
ently he's  gone — and  then  they  miss  the  silver. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Good  gracious ! 

BURROUGHS.    What  did  he  look  like? 

MOONEY.  My  young  lady  bookkeeper  says  he's 
after  wearing  a  dark  coat,  with  flannel  trousers  and 
white  shoes  and  a  Panama  straw  hat — and  she  thinks 
he  looked  like  he  might  be  an  American. 

GEORGE.    An  American? 

DAVID.     Dear,  dear! 


38  THE   CHAMPION 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Oh! 

MOONEY.  (Looks  at  each  of  them  as  they  speak) 
Well,  sir — what  will  yer  be  doin'  about  it  ? 

MR.  BURROUGHS.    Do-— do — do? 

MOONEY.  Faith — you've  got  to  do  something. 
(Whispers)  He's  in  the  house,  I  tell  you. 

BURROUGHS.  (Shouts)  Don't  whisper  at  me,  sir ! 
I  see  no  occasion  to  do  anything. 

MOONEY.  Won't  yer  be  after  ringing  up  the  po- 
lice? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Oh,  no — no — no ! 

MOONEY.  Hush — hush — for  the  love  of  Heaven ! 
Of  course,  ma'am,  the  police  is  bad,  and  all  that, 
but  burglars  is  worse,  I'm  thinking. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.     Oh,  John  John! 

MOONEY.  Now  don't  be  uneasy,  ma'am — I've  got 
a  revolver.  (MRS.  BURROUGHS  shrieks.) 

BURROUGHS.  Hush — hush — Jane !  Hush !  I  will 
search  the  house,  Mr.  Mooney,  and  if  this  person 
is  here  I  will  question  him. 

MOONEY.    Here — take  the  revolver,  sir. 

BURROUGHS.    Thank  you,  no. 

MOONEY.  Sure — you'd  better,  sir.  I've  been  in 
New  York  myself,  and  faith,  these  Americans  will 
shoot  as  soon  as  look  at  you.  I'll  go  with  you,  Mr. 
Burroughs. 

BURROUGHS.  I  shall  go  alone,  sir.  I  don't  wish 
any  shooting  done. 

MOONEY.    And  what'll  yer  do  when  you  find  him  ? 

BURROUGHS.    I  will  insist  on  an  explanation. 

MOONEY.  Explanation  is  it?  Ha — faith,  all  the 
explanation  he'll  give  you  will  be  a  rap  on  the  coco. 

BURROUGHS.  I  say,  I  shall  demand  an  explana- 
tion. 

(Enter  WILLIAM  and  MARY  L.) 
WILLIAM.     More  explanations  ? 


THE  CHAMPION  39 

MOONEY.  (Seeing  him)  That's  him — that's  him 
— look  at  his  clothes! 

WILLIAM.  Look  at  your  own  clothes.  Are  my 
clothes  any  funnier  than  yours?  You  see,  my  lug- 
gage has  gone  astray.  Has  yours? 

MOONEY.    Me  knives  and  forks  have  gone  astray. 

WILLIAM.  No  clothes — no  knives  and  forks — 
poor  fellow,  you've  nothing  for  dinner  at  all.  How 
did  it  happen? 

MOONEY.    They  were  stolen. 

WILLIAM.  Dear — dear!  Too  bad!  Who  stole 
them? 

MOONEY.    Faith,  you  did! 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Oh,  Willie! 

MARY.  Ridiculous,  Father !  Why  don't  you  send 
this  man  away? 

WILLIAM.  Mother,  it's  all  right,  I'm  sure.  There's 
some  mistake. 

MOONEY.  No  mistake  at  all,  whatever.  He  stole 
them.  He's  a  thief ! 

(WILLIAM  turns  suddenly  and  assumes  a  fighting 
attitude.) 

MOONEY.  Wait — hold  on!  Faith — now — maybe 
it  is  mistaken  I  am. 

WILLIAM.     Think  so? 

MOONEY.  (Imitates  WILLIAM^S  attitude)  Sure, 
when  I  was  in  New  York,  the  greatest  night  of  me 
life — I  got  yer  now — sure  I  seen  yer — then  I  seen 
yer  pictures  in  the  papers.  Sure,  there's  a  mistake 
somewhere. 

WILLIAM.    I  think  so. 

MOONEY.  You're  never  the  man  to  stale  a  lot  of 
knives  and  forks. 

WILLIAM.    Why  did  you  say  I  did? 

MOONEY.  Now,  for  the  love  of  Heaven — sure,  I 
didn't  mean  it.  It  was  all  a  mistake. 


40  THE   CHAMPION 

WILLIAM.  (To  MRS.  BURROUGHS,)  Who  is  this 
interesting  maniac? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  It's  Mr.  Mooney  from  the 
Blue  Cow. 

WILLIAM.  Oh — father's  friend.  (BURROUGHS 
snorts  with  rage.) 

MOONEY.  Faith,  you  at  the  Blue  Cow  and  me 
not  there!  Sir,  I'd  enjoy  the  great  honor  for  to 
shake  you  by  the  hand. 

WILLIAM.  Certainly,  if  you  wish.  (They  shake 
hands.  MOONEY  winces.)  And  now,  perhaps,  you'd 
better  go. 

BURROUGHS.  I  demand  an  explanation.  (To 
WILLIAM)  Not  from  you,  sir.  (To  MOONEY) 
From  you.  You  say  you  know  my  son? 

MOONEY.  What — you're  his  father?  (Rushes  to 
BURROUGHS  and  shakes  his  hand  furiously)  Sir,  I 
congratulate  you  from  the  bottom  of  me  heart. 
Sure  'tis  the  proud  man  you  ought  to  be.  (Crosses 
to  MRS.  BURROUGHS  and  takes  her  hand.)  And  you, 
Ma'am,  for  the  fortunate  mother  that  ye  are  this 
day. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  I — I  don't  understand  you. 

WILLIAM.  (Anxious  to  get  rid  of  him  before  he 
gives  the  game  away)  Yes — yes — yes.  And  now, 
Mr.  Mooney,  we're  just  going  in  to  dinner — so  per- 
haps if  you'll  excuse  us 

BURROUGHS.  No,  sir — no.  Mooney,  come  here. 
(He  does  so.)  What  in  the  name  of  Heaven  are 
you  talking  about? 

MOONEY.  Mr.  Burroughs,  do  you  mean  to  stand 
there  and  tell  me  that  you  don't  know  who  your 
own  son  is  ? 

WILLIAM.     Father,  if  you'll  allow  me 

BURROUGHS.  No,  sir — no!  (To  MOONEY)  Well 
— sir — who  is  he  ? 

MOONEY.  Sure,  he's  Gunboat  Williams — that's 
who  he  is. 


THE   CHAMPION  41 

BURROUGHS.     Gunboat  Williams? 

MOONEY.  Yes,  sir — Gunboat  Williams — the  light- 
weight champion  of  the  world. 

BURROUGHS.    A  prize-fighter? 

MOONEY.  Yes,  sir — and  the  best  man  of  his  weight 
that  ever  set  foot  in  a  ring. 

BURROUGHS.    My  son — a  common  prize-fighter ! 

WILLIAM.     No,  Father. 

BURROUGHS.     You  deny  it? 

WILLIAM.  Not  common,  Father.  I  was  the 
champion. 

BURROUGHS.  How  shall  I  keep  this  from  Lady 
Elizabeth  ? 

WILLIAM.     By  not  boasting  about  it. 

(Enter  LADY  ELIZABETH  Lj 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    I  am  so  sorry. 
BURROUGHS.     Mooney!     (Motions  to  him  to  go 
out  and  say  nothing.) 

(  MOONEY  picks  up  cap  and  exits  c.) 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Is  anything  the  matter? 
BURROUGHS.     No,  no! 
LADY  ELIZABETH.    Am  I  late? 
BURROUGHS.     It's  all  right — it's  quite  all  right. 
Come,  come — let's  get  in  to  dinner — dinner — dinner. 

(MRS.    BURROUGHS,    MARY,    DAVID    AND    GEORGE 
exit  R .) 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  (To  WILLIAM,)  Aren't  you 
coming  ? 

WILLIAM.    Sorry,  I'm  not  dressed. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Why,  I  think  your  clothes  are 
deliciously  unconventional.  Won't  you  take  me  in? 


42  THE   CHAMPION 

WILLIAM.  I'll  say  so.  (Offers  LADY  ELIZABETH 
his  arm.  They  move  toward  door  R.J  Coming, 
Father?  (BURROUGHS  drops  into  chair  Rj 

CURTAIN 


ACT   II 

SCENE:   The  same. 

TIME  :  The  following  morning. 

When  curtain  rises  there  are  discovered  all  mem- 
bers of  the  family,  except  WILLIAM,  namely, 
MR.  and  MRS.  BURROUGHS,  MARY,  GEORGE  and 
DAVID.  A  family  conference  is  going  on.  They 
are  all  silent — MR.  BURROUGHS  pacing  up  and 
down  center.  MRS.  BURROUGHS  on  couch  R., 
MARY  on  couch  L.,  GEORGE  in  chair  L.  of  table, 
DAVID  in  chair  R.  of  table. 

They  all  look  nervously  at  each  other  as  MR. 
BURROUGHS  paces  up  and  down. 

GEORGE.     (Rises)     May  I  be  permitted  to  say  a 
word,  Pater? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Say  it !     Say  it ! 

GEORGE.    Would  it  be  just  as  well,  to,  er — er 

BURROUGHS.    Yes — yes  ? 

GEORGE.    No,  I'm  afraid  that  wouldn't  do  at  all. 

BURROUGHS.    What  wouldn't  do? 

GEORGE.     Nothing,  sir — nothing.     (Goes  up  to  c. 
MARY  giggles.) 

BURROUGHS.    Mary ! 

MARY.    Yes,  Father. 

BURROUGHS.    Come  here! 

MARY.    Yes,  Father. 

BURROUGHS.    This  levity  is  unseemly  and  out  of 
place. 

MARY.    I  was  only  laughing. 
43 


44  THE   CHAMPION 

BURROUGHS.     Laughing  at  what? 

MARY.    At  George. 

BURROUGHS.  Do  you  think  your  brother  George 
is  funny? 

MARY.    Well,  that's  a  matter  of  opinion. 

BURROUGHS.  You're  too  young  to  have  an  opin- 
ion! 

MARY.    And  am  I  too  young  to  laugh,  father? 

GEORGE.    Mary!    (She  goes  up  stage.) 

DAVID.    (Rising)    It  occurs  to  me,  father 

BURROUGHS.    Yes ! 

DAVID.    I  say  it  occurs  to  me 

BURROUGHS.    Say  it !    Say  it ! 

DAVID.  It  occurs  to  me — that  we  need  a  little 
more  time  to  think  it  over. 

BURROUGHS.  Very  well — sit  down  and  think  it 
over. 

^DAVID  sits  in  chair  L.  of  table,  rises  and  goes  to 
chair  R.   of  table,  nervously.) 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  I  do  wish  you'd  excuse  me, 
John.  I'm  never  good  for  anything  so  early  in  the 
morning. 

BURROUGHS.  No,  Jane,  no — we  must  come  to 
some  decision  at  once.  (Crosses  to  L.j 

MRS.  BURROUGHS/  But  Willie  may  come  down  to 
his  breakfast  at  any  moment.  (Pulls  bell  cord.) 

BURROUGHS.  (Going  around  piano)  I  will  not 
sit  at  the  same  table  with  him.  And  I  will  not  be 
driven  from  my  own  table  either. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Oh,  John! 

BURROUGHS.  (R.  of  piano)  My  son!  Gunboat 
Williams !  A  nice  tale  for  Knotley  to  roll  under  its 
tongue,  if  this  thing  becomes  public. 

(Enter  SIMMONS.,) 


THE   CHAMPION  45 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Simmons,  will  you  please 
take  Mr.  William's  breakfast  up  to  his  room.  Toast 
and  coffee,  bacon  and  eggs  and  plenty  of  marmalade. 

BURROUGHS.     Marmalade ! 

SIMMONS.  Mr.  William  rang  for  his  breakfast 
half  an  hour  ago,  Ma'am. 

.MRS.  BURROUGHS.     Oh — very  well.     (SIMMONS 
goes  out.) 

BURROUGHS.  Rang  for  his  breakfast!  Humph! 
He  makes  himself  at  home. 

MARY.  (Behind  piano)  Why  not?  It  is  his 
home,  isn't  it? 

BURROUGHS.     (Angrily)     Mary,  leave  the  room. 

MARY.  Why,  certainly.  Being  here  isn't  my  idea 
of  a  good  time.  (Exits  L.  GEORGE  crosses  to  L., 
around  piano.) 

BURROUGHS.  Mark  my  words,  Jane,  that  girl 
needs  discipline.  I  think  she  should  be  sent  to  visit 
her  Aunt  Lydia  at  once. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Very  well,  dear. 

BURROUGHS.  And  you,  David,  you'd  better  make 
an  excuse  to  run  up  to  London. 

DAVID.    Very  well,  Father. 

BURROUGHS.    As  for  you,  George 

GEORGE.  (L.)  I  say,  Pater,  if  I  were  to  hop 
it,  wouldn't  Lady  Elizabeth  think  it  deucedly  curi- 
ous— what  ? 

BURROUGHS.  That  is  true.  I'd  forgotten  Lady 
Elizabeth.  Yes — yes — you  must  remain. 

GEORGE.     Very  good,  Pater. 

BURROUGHS.  If  we  can  only  keep  this  thing  quiet ! 
I  went  to  see  Mooney  last  night.  I  think  I  have 
stopped  his  tongue  but  of  course  we  are  in  the  fel- 
low's hands.  As  for  you,  Jane — possibly  you  may 
have  some  influence  with  this  son  of  yours.  If  so, 
pray  induce  him  to  be  decent  enough  to  hold  his 
tongue  about  his  infamous  past. 

GEORGE.    Thank  heaven.    Lady  Elizabeth  did  not 


46  THE  CHAMPION 

come  in  last  night  till  after  Mooney  had  given  the 
bally  show  away. 

BURROUGHS.  I  wouldn't  have  Lady  Elizabeth 
know  for  the  world. 

GEORGE.  It  wouldn't  be  so  bad  if  the  blighter  had 
any  manners. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  What's  wrong  with  his  man- 
ners? 

GEORGE.  Oh,  I  daresay  they're  right  enough — 
for  American  manners. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  If  he's  an  American  why 
shouldn't  he  have  American  manners? 

BURROUGHS.    An  American! 

GEORGE.  An  American!  By  Jove!  You  don't 
mean  to  say  the  blighter's  become  an  American  citi- 
zen. 

BURROUGHS.    Jane ! 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Oh  please — I  didn't  say  he 
had — I  don't  know  anything  about  it. 

BURROUGHS.  Jane,  you  distinctly  intimated — Ha ! 
That  would  be  the  last  straw!  (Mx.  BURROUGHS 
stretches  his  hand  out  in  consternation.) 

(Enter  WILLIAM  R.    He  comes  down  and  takes  MR. 
BURROUGHS'  outstretched  hand.) 

WILLIAM.  Good  morning,  Father — Mother — 
David — George 

BURROUGHS.  Sir,  will  you  establish  a  precedent 
and  answer  me  one  question  categorically  ? 

WILLIAM.    Why  not?    Why  not? 

BURROUGHS.  Have  you — or  have  you  not — be- 
come an  American  citizen? 

WILLIAM.    Certainly  I  have. 

BURROUGHS.     (Horrified)     What! 

WILLIAM.    Certainly.    Why  not? 

BURROUGHS.  You — you — traitor !  You  have  sold 
your  birthright  for  a  mess  of  pottage. 


THE   CHAMPION  47 

WILLIAM.  (Comes  to  him)  American  citizen- 
ship a  mess  of  pottage!  Oh,  Father! !  That's  a  lit- 
tle strong,  isn't  it  ? 

BURROUGHS.  I  might  have  known  it.  Oh,  this — 
this  is  too  much!  You — you  renegade! 

WILLIAM.  I  don't  see  the  disgrace.  I  have  lived 
in  America  fifteen  years.  Whatever  I  am,  I  owe  to 
her. 

BURROUGHS.  And  a  nice  job  America  has  made 
of  it.  I  shall  never  hold  up  my  head  again.  Never, 
never.  (Goes  out.) 

GEORGE.  (To  WILLIAM,)  An  American,  eh? 
(Bus.)  You  Yankee  bounder.  (He  begins  a  dig- 
nified exit,  but  breaks  into  a  run  when  WILLIAM 
playfully  stamps  his  feet  behind  him.) 

WILLIAM.    Total  loss! 

DAVID.  It — it's  really  frightfully  embarrassing, 
you  know. 

WILLIAM.  Oh,  come  now,  Bishop,  listen  to  me. 
Just  for  a  few  minutes,  I  want  you  to  button  your 
collar  in  front. 

DAVID.     Eh  ? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Why,  Willie,  he  can't  do  that. 
He's  a  clergyman. 

WILLIAM.  Yes.  I  want  to  talk  to  him  now  not 
as  a  clergyman — but  as  man  to  man — yes,  brother  to 
brother — for  after  all,  he  is  my  brother.  (Crosses 
to  L.cJ 

DAVID.    I  don't  deny  it. 

WILLIAM.  Very  good  of  you — now  really,  David, 
what  do  you  honestly  think  of  the  way  the  gov- 
ernor's acted  about  me? 

DAVID.  (Rises  and  crosses  to  WILLIAM  )  Why — 
er — as  a  matter  of  fact.  I  think  he's  been  a  little 
hard  on  you. 

WILLIAM.  Thank  you,  Bishop,  for  those  kind 
words. 

DAVID.    Still,  if  you  had  only  told  him  at  first 


48  THE   CHAMPION 

WILLIAM.  Would  you,  if  he'd  flown  down  your 
throat  like  that  ? 

DAVID.    Daresay  I  shouldn't. 

WTILLIAM.    Well,  there  you  are.     (Sits.) 

DAVID.  Pater's  a  bit  of  a  handful  and  no  mistake. 
Daresay,  you  did  the  right  thing,  getting  out  as  you 
did.  Wish  I'd  had  the  pluck. 

WILLIAM.    My  dear  David,  you  overwhelm  me. 

DAVID.  Oh,  I  hop  around  and  do  as  I'm  told — 
always  shall,  I  daresay,  but  you  needn't  think  it 
doesn't  make  me  sick.  You  needn't  think  there 
aren't  times  when  I  hate  myself  for  it.  You're  a 
lucky  dog — but  you  deserve  it — because  you  had  the 
pluck  to  get  out.  Ah,  there  are  times  when  I  yearn 
to  tell  him  to — to  go  to  the  devil. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Oh! 

WILLIAM.    Dear!    Dear!    How  unchurchly ! 

DAVID.  Lots  of  things  I  want  to  do — simply  don't 
dare — haven't  the  pluck,  dash  it ! 

WILLIAM.    What,  for  example! 

DAVID.  Well,  I'd  like  to  tell  him  how  I  feel  about 
you — for  one  thing. 

WILLIAM.  That's  mighty  nice  of  you.  Why  don't 
you? 

DAVID.  Well,  really,  you  know  after  you've  been 
a  sheep  all  your  life  you  can't  all  at  once  stop  bleat- 
ing and  go  to  roaring.  The  whole  business  is  deuced 
awkward.  (Going.)  I  think  I'll  go  somewhere  and 
think  it  over.  I  may  hit  on  something.  (Exit  c. 
to  L.) 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Willie,  what  are  you  going  to 
do?  (Rises  and  goes  to  couch.) 

WILLIAM.    Do? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  (Sits)  Yes,  dear,  your  father 
— he's  in  a  terrible  state.  Last  night  after  dinner, 
when  you  were  in  the  garden  with  Lady  Elizabeth, 
there  was  an  awful  scene.  He  says  he  won't  sit  at 
the  same  table  with  you. 


THE   CHAMPION  49 

WILLIAM.    I  guess  I  can  stand  it. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Oh,  Willie,  darling,  if  you'd 
only  stayed  at  home. 

WILLIAM.  Mother,  if  I  had  stayed  at  home,  life 
would  have  been  one  long  riot  or  else  he'd  have  made 
me  like  George  and  David. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  My  dear,  you  mustn't  be  hard 
on  your  brothers. 

WILLIAM.  I  don't  mean  to  be,  Mother.  But 
they've  been  absolutely  dominated  by  father.  Why, 
they  haven't  a  thought  or  an  ambition  or  a  plan  that 
he  hasn't  put  in  their  heads.  Honestly  Mother  dear, 
would  you  like  me  to  be  like  them? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  (Hedging)  No,  dear,  I  want 
you  to  be  yourself. 

WILLIAM.  That's  what  I  mean.  They're  not 
themselves.  They're  himself. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  I  tremble  to  think  what  he'll 
do  if  he  ever  finds  out  about  my  writing  to  you  and 
hearing  from  you  all  those  years. 

WILLIAM.  Come,  come,  Mother  darling,  don't 
worry  about  that.  I  haven't  missed  anything  else 
in  England  but  I've  missed  my  mother — all  these 
years — yes — I've  missed  her  terribly !  Don't  you 
know  how  I'd  love  to  take  you  to  America  and  care 
for  you  all  the  rest  of  your  life.  Why,  I'd  just 
adore  it. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  But  things  can't  go  on  like 
this — what  are  you  going  to  do? 

WILLIAM.  Well,  I  don't  know  yet.  But  before  I 
leave  here,  there  are  some  things  that  I  must  do 
here — or  try  to — oh,  I  can  see  that  my  time  here 
must  be  short  but  when  I  go  I  want  to  leave  this 
house  just  a  little  better  and  happier  because  of  me, 
if  I  can. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    What  do  you  mean? 

WILLIAM.  Now,  don't  you  worry,  Mother.  But 
I'm  going  to  have  a  try  at  it  and  if  I  fail,  why  you'll 


50  THE  CHAMPION 

be  none  the  worse  and  I  can  always  go  back  to  my 
own  free  country.  God  bless  it! 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Ah,  my  boy,  I  shall  miss  you. 

WILLIAM.  Yes,  Mother,  we'll  miss  each  other. 
But  let's  not  talk  about  that.  Tell  me,  mother,  about 
Lady  Elizabeth — How  on  earth  does  it  happen  that 
such  a  peach  of  a  girl  is  still  single ! 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  I  don't  know — of  course  she's 
very  poor. 

WILLIAM.  Come,  come  now,  Mother,  give  me  a 
good  reason. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Well,  I  think  she's  too  proud 
just  to  sell  her  title  for  money 

WILLIAM.    Mother,  you  said  a  mouth  full ! 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Willie,  dear,  what  peculiar 
language  you  do  use! 

WILLIAM.  She  is  the  finest  thing  I've  seen  in 
England. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Why,  Willie  darling,  you  don't 
mean 

WILLIAM.  Well,  you  see,  Mother,  it  wasn't  very 
gay  at  dinner  last  night.  I  mean — no  one  seemed  to 
have  anything  to  say — or  if  they  had  they  were 
afraid  to  say  it.  So  after  dinner  you  remember 
Lady  Elizabeth  and  I  strolled  out  into  the  garden — 
the  moon  was  wonderful — I've  always  been  a  great 
admirer  of  the  moon — and  so  has  Lady  Elizabeth. 
We  found  a  number  of  things  in  common.  (A 
dreamy,  smiling  pause.)  Nice  girl — nice  girl 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Did  you  say  anything  to  Lady 
Elizabeth  ? 

WILLIAM.    Oh,  yes! 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    I  mean  did  you — did  you 

WILLIAM.  Oh,  no — Mother!  I  didn't  have  the 
nerve. 

(Enter  MOONEY  c.  from  L.) 


THE   CHAMPION  51 

MOONEY.  (In  great  excitement)  Morning  to  ye, 
Ma'am.  Morning  to  ye,  Mister  Burroughs. 

WILLIAM.     (Rising)     Well,  Mooney,  what  is  it? 

MOONEY.  Sure — I'm  afther  comin'  in  here  fer 
to  do  the  toughest  thing  that  ever  an  Irishman  had 
to  do. 

WILLIAM.     What's  that? 

MOONEY.    Apologize. 

WILLIAM.    You  mean  about  the  silver? 

MOONEY.    No — we  found  the  silver. 

WILLIAM.    Then  what  do  you  mean? 

MOONEY.  Then  ye  ain't  seen  the  paper?  (Waves 
it.)  All  about  your  being  the  Champion.  ('MRS. 
BURROUGHS  gets  up.) 

WILLIAM.     No. 

MOONEY.  Sure,  'tis  all  my  fault  though  I'm  tellin' 
ye  I  didn't  go  fer  to  do  it. 

WILLIAM.  Let  me  see  it.  (Takes  paper  and 
reads  it.) 

MOONEY.  (Much  worried)  Now  for  the  love  av 
Heaven,  Mister  Burroughs 

WILLIAM.  (With  a  start)  Good  Heavens!  Well! 
You've  done  it  now,  Mooney ! 

MOONEY.  Sure,  I  know — I  know — Sure  I  only 
told  me  wife,  and  I  swore  her  on  the  Holy  Book 
fer  to  hould  her  tongue,  an'  sure — she  must  av 
blabbed. 

WILLIAM,    (c.)    Oh,  yes — she  spilled  it  all  right. 

MOONEY.  (R.C.)  Sure,  Mister  Burroughs,  I'm 
that  sorry  I  could  bite  me  tongue  out. 

WILLIAM.  Never  mind.  Perhaps  it's  just  as 
well. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  (-L.C.)  What  will  your  father 
say  when  he  hears  of  this. 

WILLIAM.    "I  demand  an  explanation!" 

(Enter  BURROUGHS  and  GEORGE  R.  both  reading 


52  THE   CHAMPION 

newspapers.    BURROUGHS  comes  down  R.   MRS. 
BURROUGHS  sits  on  couch.) 

BURROUGHS.  Mooney,  we  will  excuse  you. 
You've  done  your  worst.  Good  morning. 

MOONEY.  (Crosses  to  R.)  Will  you  have  an  ex- 
planation, sir. 

BURROUGHS.  No>  sir — I  want  no  explanation. 
Good  morning. 

MOONEY.    (To  WILLIAM,)    I'm  sorry,  sir. 

WILLIAM.  It's  all  right,  Mooney — it  would  have 
come  out  some  time.  You  run  along — I'll  see  you  at 
the  Inn.  ('WILLIAM  goes  up  c.) 

MOONEY.  Thank  you,  sir.  (Goes  out  after 
vainly  trying  to  shake  MR.  BURROUGHS'  hand.  As  he 
exits  he  says  in  the  distance:)  It's  all  the  fault  of 
my  old  woman,  etc.,  etc.  I'll  never  tell  her  anything 
again. 

BURROUGHS.  Ruined!  (To  WILLIAM.J  Well, 
sir,  you've  done  your  worst.  Here  it  is — the  whole 
filthy  scandal.  All  over  the  public  print  of  your 
native  city — and  your  photograph  in  ring  costume. 
You  have  ruined  us  all.  (Enter  DAVID  c.  with  news- 
paper.) I  hope  you  are  satisfied: 

WILLIAM.  Look  here  now,  it  isn't  as  bad  as  all 
that. 

GEORGE.  Sweet  mess  you've  got  us  into,  I  must 
say. 

BURROUGHS.  A  blackguardly  bruiser.  (To  MRS. 
BURROUGHS. )  Your  son — Madam.  Your  son ! 

WILLIAM.  Oh,  come,  come — Father.  Be  fair — 
I'm  your  son  too. 

BURROUGHS.  You  have  ruined  us  all:  We  shall 
never  be  able  to  hold  up  our  heads  in  this,  com- 
munity again.  (Sits  R.  of  table.) 

GEORGE.  It's — it's  quite  too  humiliating.  (Sits 
L.  of  table.) 

WILLIAM.  Nothing  humiliating  about  being  cham- 


THE   CHAMPION  53 

pion.  A  champion  is  the  best  man  in  the  world 
in  his  class. 

DAVID.  (Above  table  R.)  I  shudder  to  think 
what  the  Rector  will  say. 

GEORGE.  And  what's  to  become  of  my  candidacy 
for  Parliament?  Nice  chance  for  a  conservative 
candidate — with  a  bally  prize  fighter  for  a  brother — 
what? 

BURROUGHS.  Well,  sir — you  have  accomplished 
your  ambition.  You  have  disgraced  your  entire 
family.  And  now.  sir — now 

WILLIAM,  (c.)  And  now,  I  suppose,  I  am  no 
longer  a  son  of  yours.  I  am  to  go  and  never  darken 
your  door  again.  Very  well,  but  before  I  get  out, 
I'm  going  to  make  one  or  two  remarks.  It's  true 
that  I  have  been  the  light-weight  champion  of  the 
world.  It's  true  that  I  made  over  $200,000  in  the 
prize  ring — with  my  two  fists.  I  wasn't  going  to  tell 
you  at  first  because  I  thought  you'd  be 

BURROUGHS.     Now  he's  calling  his  father  insane. 

WILLIAM.  I  wasn't  going  to  say  a  word  about  it, 
but  since  it's  come  out,  I'm  here  to  say  that  I'm  not 
ashamed  of  it. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Oh,  Willie !    Willie ! 

WILLIAM.    No,  Mother,  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it. 

BURROUGHS.  Where,  where  in  Heaven's  name 
did  you  ever  learn  this  disreputable  trade  of  yours? 

WILLIAM.    At  the  Y.M.C.A. 

DAVID.    Y 

WILLIAM.  Y.M.C.A.  Yes,  sir.  When  I  landed  in 
San  Francisco,  I  nearly  starved  to  death  until  the 
Y.M.C.A.  took  me  in.  One  day,  while  I  was  there, 
I  was  watching  a  couple  of  lads  boxing  in  the  gym. 
They  got  me  to  put  on  the  gloves  with  them.  I 
wasn't  so  rotten  and  pretty  soon  one  of  them  got  me 
a  chr.nce  to  go  on  in  a  preliminary  bout  at  an 
Athletic  Club.  My  opponent  was  a  "coon"  by  the 
name  of  "Snowball  Jackson."  (BURROUGHS  throws 


54  THE   CHAMPION 

up  his  hands  in  horror,  as  also  do  GEORGE  and 
DAVID.,)  I  was  to  get  five  dollars,  win  or  lose.  I 
won  in  the  third  round  with  a  knockout.  One  thing 
led  to  another  and  pretty  soon  I  got  a  manager.  I 
had  my  ups  and  downs — I  took  a  good  many  hard 
knocks,  but  in  five  years  I  was  at  the  top  of  the 
heap.  I  made  my  pile  and  I  retired  from  the  ring — 
the  undefeated  light-weight  champion  of  the  world. 

BURROUGHS.    An  eminence  of  iniquity. 

WILLIAM.  Now,  Father,  hear  me  out.  After 
that  I  made  up  my  mind 

BURROUGHS.    That's  enough. 

WILLIAM.  All  right — but  I  will  say  this — I'm 
proud  of  my  career  in  the  ring — yes,  sir — proud  of 
it.  I  don't  talk  about  it  much,  but  I'm  proud  of  it 
just  the  same.  It  takes  skill  and  persistence,  and 
courage,  to  get  to  the  top  in  that  game,  and  when 
you  get  there  it  takes  clean  and  decent  living  to  stay 
there.  I  took  them  all  as  they  came — they  couldn't 
come  too  tough  for  me.  And  when  I  quit — I  quit 
unbeaten.  That  was  eight  years  ago.  I  haven't  had 
a  glove  on  since.  Now  I'm  never  going  to  say  a 
word  about  it  again,  but  if  you  think  I'm  not  proud 
of  it,  you're  mistaken — because  I  am.  I  always 
tried  my  best  to  win.  That's  clean  sport  and  clean 
sport  is  a  good  thing  for  any  country. 

BURROUGHS.  (Bus.)  My  son — Gunboat  Williams 
— my  God! 

WILLIAM.  Well  Father — you  might  at  least 
thank  me  for  not  using  my  own  name. 

BURROUGHS.  What's  the  difference — all  the  world 
will  know  it  now. 

GEORGE.  I  suppose  Lady  Elizabeth  will  leave  the 
house  at  once. 

WILLIAM.    I'll  make  you  a  small  bet  she  doesn't. 

BURROUGHS.  (Rising  and  crossing  to  WILLIAM  j 
The  manners  of  the  prize  ring — making  a  wager  on 
a  lady.  You — you 


THE   CHAMPION  55 

(Enter  SIMMONS  R.    DAVID  puts  newspaper  on  con- 
sole table  up  stage  and  comes  down  to  table.) 

SIMMONS.    Beg  pardon,  sir. 

BURROUGHS.    What  is  it? 

SIMMONS.    Your  telephone  in  the  library. 

BURROUGHS.    Well ! 

SIMMONS.  It's  the  newspaper  editor.  He  wants 
an  interview  about  Gunboat  Williams. 

BURROUGHS.  Gunboat  Williams?  Tell  him  I'm 
not  at  home — no,  I'll  tell  him.  (Exit  R.,  followed  by 
SIMMONS.) 

GEORGE.  (Rises,  puts  monocle  in  his  eye,  looks 
at  WILLIAM)  Warship  Williams !  My  God!  (Exit 
c.  to  R.) 

WILLIAM.    And  what  has  the  Church  to  say? 

DAVID.    Really,  it's  frightfully  embarrassing. 

WILLIAM.     I'm  awfully  sorry,  Dave. 

DAVID.  What's  the  good  of  that  now.  I  suppose 
I'd  better  go  and  break  it  to  the  Rector.  Heaven 
knows  what  he's  going  to  think.  Gunboat  Williams ! 
(Exit  c.  to  L.) 

WILLIAM.  Well,  Mother — here's  your  notorious 
son.  Do  you  love  him  still? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  My  dear,  as  if  I  should  ever 
stop  loving  you!  Why  didn't  you  ever  write  me 
about  all  this  ? 

WILLIAM.  Well,  I  was  afraid  you'd  worry  about 
my  getting  hurt. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Oh,  I  should — I  should!  I 
should  never  have  had  a  peaceful  minute. 

WILLIAM.  Mother — do  you  honestly  believe  this 
thing  is  going  to  queer  the  whole  family,  as  father 
seems  to  think? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  I'm  afraid  it's  rather  dreadful, 
darling — it's  such  a  respectable  community. 

WILLIAM.  I  wish  I'd  knocked  Mooney's  block  off. 

PHONE  RINGS 


56  THE   CHAMPION 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Willie !    You  answer  it. 

WILLIAM.  (Goes  to  phone)  Hello,  hello!  I 
mean — are  you  there? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Willie!  You've  got  it  upside 
down.  (Bus.  with  phone.) 

WILLIAM.  Hello!  Hello!  Yes,  just  a  moment. 
Oh,  it's  for  you,  Mother. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    Ask  who  it  is. 

WILLIAM.  Who  is  it,  please.  (To  MRS.  BUR- 
ROUGHS.,) It's  Mrs.  Archer. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  The  Rector's  wife!  She's 
read  the  paper.  Oh,  dear,  I  can't  talk  to  her  now. 
I  haven't  the  heart.  Say  I've  gone  to  bed  with  a 
sick  headache. 

WILLIAM.    Why,  Mother! 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Oh,  I  know  it  isn't  true  now, 
but  it  will  be  in  a  minute.  (She  exits  L.J 

WILLIAM.  (Into  phone)  I'm  very  sorry,  but 
mother  says  she's — er — I  mean  mother  has  just  gone 
to  bed  to  have  a  sick  headache !  What !  Oh,  yes — 
this  is  Mr.  William  Burroughs  speaking.  Yes — yes 
—Gunboat  Williams.  What's  that !  Hello !  Hello ! 
Hello!  (Hangs  up  the  'phone.  After  telephoning, 
WILLIAM  thinks  a  moment,  then  pulls  bell  rope. 
Enter  LADY  ELIZABETH  L.j  I'm  so  glad.  Lady 
Elizabeth.  I  was  just  going  to  send  Simmons  to 
ask  if  you  could  spare  me  a  few  moments. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  (Taking  up  workbasket  off 
piano)  Why,  of  course. 

(Enter  SIMMONS.,) 

SIMMONS.    You  want  something,  sir? 

WILLIAM.  Er — I  did,  but  I've  got  it.  (Exit 
SIMMONS.)  You've  heard  the  news? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    News? 

WILLIAM.  About  the  exposure  of  the  prodigal 
son? 


THE   CHAMPION  57 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    What  do  you  mean? 

WILLIAM.    They  haven't  told  you  ? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Told  me  what? 

WILLIAM.  No,  they  wouldn't,  I  suppose,  if  they 
could  help  it.  Well,  everything's  in  a  mess  and  so — 
well,  I've  just  got  to  get  out — fact  is  I'm  going  in 
a  few  minutes. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Going? 

WILLIAM.    Yes. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Where? 

WILLIAM.  Home — to  America.  So  you  see  it's 
my  last  chance  with  you. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  But  I  don't  want  to  lose  my 
friend  so  soon.  Why  must  you  go? 

WTILLIAM.  That's  what  I've  got  to  tell  you.  (He 
indicates  chair  and  she  sits  down,  by  the  table  L.  of 
table.  He  sits  across  the  table  R. ) 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    All  this  sounds  very  ominous. 

WILLIAM.  Worse  than  that — it's  my  swan-song, 
I  guess.  (They  look  at  each  other — then  their  eyes 
drop — there  is  a  moment  of  awkwardness.  Then, 
as  one  who  speaks  to  make  conversation  in  an  em- 
barrassing moment,  she  speaks.) 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Are  you  going  back  to  your 
ranch  ? 

WILLIAM.     Ranch  ? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Your  brother  says  you've  been 
ranching  in  the  states. 

WILLIAM.  Yes,  I've  been  doing  quite  a  lot  of 
ranching  in  the  neighborhood  of  Broadway  and  42nd 
Street.  Many  fine  ranches  there. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Cattle  ranches? 

WILLIAM.    No — chicken  ranches. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Really? 

WILLIAM.  Hang  the  ranch !  I've  never  done  any 
ranching.  That's  merely  my  family's  idea  of  the 
gentlemanly  thing  an  English  lad  ought  to  do  when 
he  leaves  home. 


58  THE  CHAMPION 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    What  have  you  done  then? 

WILLIAM.  Pretty  much  everything  else — all  the 
way  from  cabin  boy  to  tramp. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Not  really! 

WILLIAM.  I've  chopped  so  much  wood  for  a  meal 
that  my  hands  were  bleeding — I've  stood  for  hours 
in  the  bread  line  for  a  roll  and  a  cup  of  coffee  and 
when  the  saints  in  charge  had  said  a  prayer  and  sung 
a  hymn  the  coffee  was  as  cold  as  I  was.  Oh,  I've 
had  lots  of  fun. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Fun  ? 

WILLIAM.  Oh,  well,  it's  all  adventure  and  one  is 
young,  and  no  one  knows  you  in  a  strange  land,  and 
when  the  bad  time  is  over  there's  a  relish  about 
success  that  you-  can't  get  in  any  other  way.  I  don't 
know  why  I  go  on  like  this  to  you,  but  they  say 
when  a  man  is  drowning  he  sort  of  gets  a  quick 
close  up  of  his  whole  past  life 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Are  you  drowning? 

WILLIAM.    I  don't  know  yet.    It  depends  on  you. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    On  me? 

WILLIAM.  Yes.  You  see  there's  something  I 
wanted  to  ask  you,  but  first  there's  something  I've 
got  to  tell  you — and  it  may  be  a  shock  to  you. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Before  you  tell  me  anything 
there's  something  I've  got  to  tell  you  which  may  be 
a  great  shock  to  you.  When  I  came  down  here  to 
visit  your  people  I  took  my  place  in  the  bread-line. 
Could  anything  be  more  sordid  than  that.  Why 
don't  you  tell  me  how  you  despise  me? 

WILLIAM.    Because  I  don't. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Oh,  if  I  were  only  a  man. 

WILLIAM.    My  God!    What  a  horrible  wish ! 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    It's  my  wish,  anyhow. 

WILLIAM.  Don't  say  that — please,  don't  say  any- 
thing like  that.  It's  blasphemy.  Oh,  there  may  be 
women  who  might  just  as  well  be  men,  but  not  you — • 
not  you! 


THE  CHAMPION  59 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Well,  here  I  am — stranded — 
and  just  because  I'm  a  woman  with  a  title,  I  can't 
do  anything  about  it — at  least  I  can't  do  anything 
that  I  don't  loathe. 

WILLIAM.    Surely  it  can't  be  as  bad  as  all  that. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Just  as  bad. 

WILLIAM.  I  say,  do  you  mind  if  I  ask  you  a  ques- 
tion or  two? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Not  at  all. 

WILLIAM.  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  haven't 
anything  at  all? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Oh,  no !  I've  got  a  silver  mine 
without  any  silver  in  it. 

WILLIAM.  Yes — I've  got  one  of  those  mines 
myself.  Where  is  it? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    In  Mexico. 

WILLIAM.  In  Mexico?  Didn't  it  ever  pay  any 
dividends  ? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Oh,  yes — till  after  father  died, 
but  about  that  time,  so  my  Trustee  tells  me,  they 
found  the  mine  was  worked  out.  Oh,  there  were  a 
few  odds  and  ends  but  they  all  went  to  the  bad. 

WILLIAM.    At  about  the  same  time? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Yes,  just  about. 

WILLIAM.  Who  is  this  trustee  you  speak  of? 
Perhaps  he — but  I  guess  you'll  think  I'm  getting 
awfully  fresh. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Not  at  all — you're  my  friend, 
aren't  you? 

WILLIAM.    I'll  tell  the  world  I  am. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  The  trustee  is  Lord  Brocking- 
ton. 

WILLIAM.    Do  you  think  that  possibly  he 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Of  course  not — Lord  Brock- 
ington's  my  cousin. 

WILLIAM.  Oh,  I  see.  Well,  you  know  it's  been 
my  experience  that  when  you  get  your  relations 
mixed  up  in  business  affairs — Oh,  boy !  Still,  I  sup- 


60  THE   CHAMPION 

pose  it  may  be  different  in  this  country — What  kind 
of  a  fellow  is  he? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Oh,  Freddy's  all  right.  Aw- 
fully fond  of  me,  too. 

WILLIAM.    You  don't  say  so! 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  He'd  even  marry  me  to-day 
without  a  penny  to  my  name. 

WILLIAM.  You  seem  to  think  he  deserves  a  lot 
of  credit  for  that. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Don't  you? 

WILLIAM.  Ha!  Ha!  Look  here — what  do  they 
call  this  mine  that  always  paid  dividends  until  this 
chap  that  wants  to  marry  you  became  your  trustee  ? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    The  Silver  Girl. 

WILLIAM.  The  Silver  Girl!  The  Silver  Girl! 
Seductive  name,  isn't  it? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Yes,  but  I'm  afraid  she  is  an 
adventuress. 

WILLIAM.    I  think  you  need  a  lawyer. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    I  can't  afford  luxuries. 

WILLIAM.  My  brother  George  is  scarcely  a  lux- 
ury. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  I'm  afraid  he  would  be  as  a 
lawyer.  Why  do  you  think  I  need  one? 

WILLIAM.  Well,  I  was  thinking  perhaps  there 
may  be  some  way  of  saving  something  from  the 
ruins  that  your  Trustee  hasn't  discovered.  Do  you 
mind  if  I  speak  to  George  about  this  Silver  Girl? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Not  at  all — but  you  mustn't 
trouble  about  me.  It  isn't  a  bit  of  use.  Hm !  Poor 
old  dad!  I'm  glad  he  didn't  live  to  see  the  mess 
he  got  me  into.  He  was  a  darling — terribly  irre- 
sponsible— but  a  darling.  It  seems  so  strange  to 
think  that  I  shall  never  see  his  funny,  merry  face 
again.  You'd  think  I'd  get  used  to  it,  but  I  don't 

seem  to.  Somehow  I  just (Begins  to  break 

down.) 

WILLIAM.    (Rises — crosses  to  L.  of  LADY  ELIZA- 


THE   CHAMPION  61 

BETHJ  Don't  cry — please — please  don't  cry!  I 
never  could  stand  a  woman  crying. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  It's  silly  of  me,  isn't  it?  There 
now — I  shan't  do  it  again.  (She  fumbles  to  try  and 
find  her  handkerchief  but  can't.  He  takes  his  out 
and  hands  it  to  her.  She  wipes  her  eyes.)  Thanks. 

WILLIAM.     (Crosses  to  L.j     Welcome. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  But  here  I  am  telling  you  my 
troubles  and  you  were  going  to  tell  me  yours. 

WILLIAM.  Yes — and  they're  not  easy  to  tell. 
(Sitting  on  couch  ~L.)  Lady  Elizabeth,  I  don't  sup- 
pose you've  ever  been  personally  acquainted  with  a 
prize  fighter? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  A  prize  fighter!  What  a  no- 
tion. 

WILLIAM.    Absurd  idea,  isn't  it? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Ridiculous! 

WILLIAM.  Yes.  Quite  so.  However,  you're 
acquainted  with  one  now. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    What! 

WILLIAM.    Yes,  I  mean  me. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Mr.  Burroughs ! 

WILLIAM.    That's  my  guilty  secret. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    I  don't  understand  you  at  all. 

WILLIAM.  (Pointing  to  table  R.)  There  it  is — 
in  the  Knotley  Guardian — all  about  me. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  (Picks  up  paper — looks  at  it) 
Mr.  Burroughs ! 

WILLIAM.  Needn't  bother  to  read  it  all  now. 
Save  it  for  a  rainy  day.  The  long  and  short  of  it  is 
that  for  several  years  I  was  one  of  the  best  known 
pugilists  in  the  prize  ring. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Dear  me ! 

WILLIAM.    I  was  known  as  Gunboat  Williams. 

LADY.  ELIZABETH.    Heavens — what  a  name! 

WILLIAM.  I  wasn't  going  to  tell  anybody  over 
here,  but  that  infernal  Irishman  gave  it  away — and 
now  it's  all  come  out.  Well — that's  it ! 


62  THE   CHAMPION 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  How  in  the  world  did  you  ever 
do  such  a  thing  ? 

WILLIAM.  You  agree  with  father.  You  think  it's 
a  disgrace.  Yes — I  suppose  you  would.  You 
couldn't  ever  look  on  that  kind  of  a  fellow  as  your 
friend. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Well,  I  don't  know  very  much 
about  such  things — Mr.  Burroughs — but  I've  always 
supposed  it  was  rather  a  brutal  business. 
.WILLIAM.     Yes — yes — I  suppose  you  have. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Two  human  beings  trying  to 
beat  each  other  into  unconsciousness — isn't  that  it? 

WILLIAM.    That's  one  way  of  looking  at  it. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  And  for  money — and  then — 
the  associations — aren't  they  rather — rather  dread- 
ful? 

WILLIAM.  Well,  I  suppose  they're  not  exactly 
what  you'd  call  lady  ringers  and  five  o'clock  tea. 
Oh,  I  don't  blame  you  for  being  shocked — I  was 
afraid  of  it. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  (Rises  and  crosses  to  him — 
with  paper  in  hand)  Well,  I  hope  you  won't  think 
I'm  prudish  about  it.  But,  well — really — it  is  rather 
a  pity,  isn't  it — and  you  don't  seem  like  that  kind 
of  person  at  all.  Why — why — I  can  hardly  believe 
it.  (Moves  a  little  up  L.j  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry  you 
told  me — very,  very  sorry! 

WILLIAM.  I  had  to.  Lady  Elizabeth — I've 
knocked  about  the  world  a  good  bit.  I've  had  a  lot 
of  happy  days  and  some  sad  ones.  A  lot  of  people 
have  come  into  my  life  and  gone  out  again,  and  some 
of  them  I  miss  a  good  deal,  but  I've  never  missed 
any  of  them  as  I'm  going  to  miss  you — because  you 
see,  I've  never  met  anyone  like  you  in  the  world — 
never — and  never  shall  again.  You're  the  one 
woman  in  the  world  to  me — and  always  will  be — 
always!  That's  why  I  had  to  tell  you — because — 
well — I  couldn't  have  asked  you  what  I  was  going 


THE   CHAMPION  63 

to  ask  you  without  telling  you — could  I?  You — 
know  what  I  was  going  to  ask  you  ? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Hadn't  we  better  speak  of 
something  else. 

WILLIAM.  (Reels  under  the  blow,  but  bucks 
up.)  No,  thank  you — nothing  else.  (LADY  ELIZA- 
BETH exits  L.  through  window.  After  LADY 
ELIZABETH'S  exit,  WILLIAM  remains  for  a  moment, 
sunk  in  gloom,  staring  at  the  floor.  Enter  ANTOIN- 
ETTE from  the  side  of  the  garden  opposite  to  that 
on  which  LADY  ELIZABETH  went  out,  with  news- 
paper. Thinking  LADY  ELIZABETH  is  still  in  the 
room,  WILLIAM  pulls  himself  together.  Seeing  AN- 
TOINETTE.,) Where  did  you  come  from? 

ANTOINETTE.  (Approaching  him  and  indicating 
the  paper  in  her  hand)  Ah!  Monsieur  le  Cham- 
pion! 

WILLIAM.     You've  heard  the  scandal? 

ANTOINETTE.  Please  to  accept  my  congratula- 
tions, Monsieur  le  Champion. 

WILLIAM.  Congratulations — on  being  kicked  out 
of  the  house?  That's  what  it  amounts  to.  (He 
rings  the  bell.) 

ANTOINETTE.  Is  it  that  they  are  not  proud  of  you 
— your  family? 

WILLIAM.  My  father  is — he's  giving  me  a  loving 
knife. 

(Enter  SIMMONS.^ 

SIMMONS.  You  want  something,  sir? 

WILLIAM.  Yes,  Simmons,  I  want  a  drink. 

SIMMONS.  Certainly,  sir — some  mineral  water, 
perhaps  ? 

WILLIAM.  Perhaps  not.    Get  me  a  high -ball. 

SIMMONS.  High-ball,  sir? 

WILLIAM.  Yes — Highball — whiskey  and  soda. 


64  THE   CHAMPION 

ANTOINETTE.  Whiskey!  In  this  house!  Oo,  la, 
la! 

SIMMONS.  I'm  very  sorry,  sir,  but  Mr.  Bur- 
roughs never  allows  any  liquor  in  the  house,  sir. 
He's  very  strict  about  people  enjoying  themselves. 

WILLIAM.    Oh,  of  course.    I  forgot. 

SIMMONS.    But  I  could  set  you  a  lemon  squash. 

WILLIAM.    No  thanks — don't  care  for  vegetables. 

ANTOINETTE.  Vegetables !  Ce  n'est  pas  vege- 
table. 

SIMMONS.    It's  not  a  vegetable — it's  a  drink,  sir. 

WILLIAM.    Whatever  it  is,  I  don't  want  it! 

SIMMONS.  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  I've  a  small  bottle 
of  my  own — kept  quite  private,  in  my  room,  sir.  It 
is  at  your  service. 

WILLIAM.    Hooch? 

SIMMONS.    'Ooch,  sir? 

WILLIAM.    Yes — Hooch — Whiskey! 

SIMMONS.    Oh  yes,  sir.    It's  whiskey. 

WILLIAM.  (Rising)  Oo!  La!  La!  You  didn't 
make  it  yourself? 

SIMMONS.    Oh  no,  sir. 

WILLIAM.  All  right — try  anything  once — I'll  take 
some. 

SIMMONS.     I  thank  you,  sir. 

WILLIAM.    I  thank  you,  Simmons. 

(Exit  SIMMONS  R.) 

ANTOINETTE.  Monsieur  wish  something  for  to 
drink  ? 

WILLIAM.     That's  it. 

ANTOINETTE.  Something  to  make  intoxicante, 
eh? 

WILLIAM.    That's  the  idea — want  to  get  pickled. 

ANTOINETTE.  Pickled!  Oo!  La!  La!  Ah, 
Monsieur  le  Champion,  you  are  very  strong,  no! 

WILLIAM.    Eh? 


THE   CHAMPION  65 

ANTOINETTE.    And  brave — no? 

WILLIAM.    What? 

ANTOINETTE.  And  clever — no?  Ah,  Monsieur  le 
Champion,  you  know  that  nice  Monsieur  Corbett? 

WILLIAM.    Jim  Corbett?    Oh  yes,  I  know  him. 

ANTOINETTE.    You  fight  him — no  ? 

WILLIAM.  Yes,  I  fight  him  no.  He's  a  heavy- 
weight. 

ANTOINETTE.  I  see  that*  nice  Monsieur  Corbett — 
one  time  he  come  to  Paris — oh,  he  have  veree  good 
time  in  Paris. 

WILLIAM.  Yes,  I  should  think  he  might  if  there 
are  many  there  like  you. 

ANTOINETTE.  Merci  M'sieur.  You  have  been  to 
Paris? 

WILLIAM.    Oh  yes. 

ANTOINETTE.    You  have  happy  time  in  Paris? 

WILLIAM.    Not  very — there  was  a  war  going  on. 

ANTOINETTE.    Ah,  you  were  a  soldat ! 

WILLIAM.    You  said  it — I  was  a  soldat. 

ANTOINETTE.    And  you  fight  for  France! 

WILLIAM.  I  fought  for  something.  I  guess  it 
was  France.  What's  that  song  the  poilus  used  to 
sing  so  much — some  girl's  name ? 

ANTOINETTE.     Madelon  ? 

WILLIAM.  That's  it — how'd  it  go?  (She  starts 
to  sing  "Madelon."  After  having  sung  it  she  says.) 

ANTOINETTE.    Now  you  sing  it. 

WILLIAM.    I  can't  sing. 

ANTOINETTE.     Yes — yes ! 

WILLIAM.    You  start  it  for  me. 

(She  starts  it  and  he  joins  in,  clumsily  at  first — has 
much  difficulty  with  the  French,  but  finishes 
strong.  Near  end  of  song  enter  MARY.,) 

MARY.  (When  song  is  ended)  Oh,  Bill,  how 
beautifully  you  sing. 


66  THE   CHAMPION 

WILLIAM.    Quit  your  kidding. 

ANTOINETTE.    Ah,  Monsieur  he  sing  veree  well 

WILLIAM.    Toujours  la  politesse. 

ANTOINETTE.     Du  tout — Du  tout,  m'sieur. 

WILLIAM.    De  tout — de  tout  to  you. 

ANTOINETTE.  (They  speak  together)  Si  vous 
venez  a  Paris,  Monsieur,  en  vous  donnerai  une  deco- 
ration— des  grand  banquets — au  revoir.  Monsieur, 
in  my  country  they  would  build  for  you  a  monument 
— Oo— la— la!  (Exit  R.j 

WILLIAM.     What  did  you  say? 

MARY.  Oh,  Bill — she  knows  about  your  being  a 
prize  fighter.  Isn't  it  exciting?  Isn't  it  fun? 

WILLIAM.    Is  it? 

MARY.     I  think  so. 

WILLIAM.    Nice  of  you  to  take  it  that  way. 

MARY.  Oh,  Bill — can't  you  understand?  You're 
my  very  best  brother.  Oh,  I  don't  say  anything 
against  the  others,  but  vou're  my  idea  of  what  a  real 
brother  ought  to  be.  I  don't  care  what  father  says 
— I  don't  care  what  anybody  says — I  don't  care  what 
anybody  thinks ! 

WILLIAM.    You  wouldn't  care  if  I  robbed  a  bank. 

MARY.    No. 

WILLIAM.    Or  set  fire  to  a  church? 

MARY.    No — I  just  love  you  and  always  shall. 

WILLIAM.  Bless  you.  That's  the  kind  of  sister 
to  have.  (Goes  up,  looks  off  R.) 

MARY.  Bill,  are  you  going  to  fight  anybody  over 
here? 

WILLIAM.  Bless  your  heart — no.  My  fighting 
days  are  over — I  mean,  as  a  professional,  of  course. 
I  might  make  an  amateur  appearance  if  anybody 
made  me  sore  enough. 

MARY.  (Goes  to  couch  L.)  Bill,  do  you  know 
what  father  called  you  this  morning  before  you  came 
in? 


THE   CHAMPION  67 

WILLIAM.  Anything-  worse  than  what  he  called 
me  after  I  came  in? 

MARY.    He  called  you  an  unprincipled  adventurer. 

WILLIAM.  Rather  mild  for  father — but  he's 
right. 

MARY.    Bill 

WILLIAM.  I  am  an  unprincipled  adventurer — I 
am  a  corporation  lawyer. 

MARY.  Now  I  suppose  you're  joking  again.  You 
know,  Bill,  sometimes  I  don't  always  see  the  point 
of  your  jokes. 

WILLIAM.  Never  mind,  dear.  There  are  quite  a 
lot  of  people  in  England  just  like  that. 

MARY.    Oh,  but  Bill 

(Enter  SIMMONS  R.) 

SIMMONS.  There's  a  newspaper  reporter  to  see 
you,  sir. 

WILLIAM.    Me? 

SIMMONS.    Yes,  sir. 

WILLIAM.    You're  sure? 

SIMMONS.  Oh  yes,  sir.  He  asked  for  Mr.  Gun- 
boat Williams. 

WILLIAM.  Oh,  well — I'm  in  for  it — might  as  well 
go  the  whole  hog.  Send  him  in. 

(Exit  SIMMONS  R.) 

MARY.    Bill — father  will  be  furious. 

WILLIAM.  Father  can't  be  any  more  furious  than 
he  is  without  bursting — perhaps  that  would  be  the 
best  thing  that  could  happen.  (Enter  REPORTER  R. 
Stands  hesitating  at  door.)  Oh,  come  in. 

REPORTER,    (c.)    Mr.  William  Burroughs? 

WILLIAM.     Yes. 

REPORTER.     I   represent   the  Knotley   Guardian. 


68  THE   CHAMPION 

Perhaps  you've  seen  our  article  about  you  in  to-day's 
paper. 

WILLIAM.    I  wish  I  hadn't. 

REPORTER.     Really?    Anything  wrong  with  it? 

WILLIAM.  Oh  no — it's  splendid — splendid.  This 
is  my  sister,  Mr. — er — Mr. — er? 

REPORTER.    Coykendall. 

WILLIAM.     I  beg  your  pardon. 

REPORTER.    Coykendall. 

WILLIAM.  Mr. — endall — this  is  my  sister.  ^MARY 
sits  on  sofa.)  Please  sit  down.  ('REPORTER  does  so 
L.  of  table  R.  Puts  hat  on  table.)  What  can  I  do 
for  you? 

REPORTER.  Well,  sir — as  you  may  have  observed 
in  our  little  sketch  of  your  career,  there  is  something 
of  a  hiatus — I  mean  to  say — after  your  retirement 
from  the  ring 

WILLIAM.    Oh,  yes. 

REPORTER.  My  editor  would  like  to  know — I 
mean  to  say,  if  you  have  no  objection 

WILLIAM.    What  happened  next? 

REPORTER.    Er — precisely — I  mean  to  say. 

WILLIAM.  I  studied  law — was  admitted  to  the 
bar — I  mean  to  say,  and  worked  up  a  practice — not 
much — just  a  bare  living — I  mean  to  say. 

REPORTER.  Er — might  I  ask  what  you  mean  by 
that  expression? 

WILLIAM.  You  ought  to  know — you  used  it  your- 
self— I  mean  to  say. 

REPORTER.  A  bare  living — I  mean  to  say.  What 
do  you  mean  by  that? 

WILLIAM.  Oh,  seventy-five  or  a  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars  a  year. 

REPORTER.  Just  fancy!  What  would  that  be  in 
pounds,  shillings  and  pence? 

WILLIAM.  In  the  old  days — in  round  numbers — 
somewhere  between  fifteen  and  twenty  thousand 
pounds.  It's  more  than  that  now. 


THE   CHAMPION  69 

REPORTER.    Fancy  that! 

WILLIAM.     I'm  also  a  statesman. 

REPORTER.    Really  ? 

WILLIAM.  Nobody  knows  it  but  me.  They'll  find 
it  out  after  I'm  dead.  Just  now  they  call  me  a 
politician — I'm  a  member  of  Congress  from  Con- 
necticut. 

REPORTER.  Conneckticut.  Isn't  that  one  of  your 
states  ? 

WILLIAM.  Oh  yes — Conneckticut  is — one  of  our 
very  finest  states,  in  fact,  Conneckticut  did  not  ratify 
the  Prohibition  Amendment. 

MARY.    Bill — what  is  a  member  of  Congress  ? 

WILLIAM.  A  member  of  Congress  is  a  man  who 
goes  to  Washington  to  misrepresent  the  people. 

MARY.  Oh — just  like  our  members  of  Parlia- 
ment. 

(Enter  BURROUGHS  and  GEORGE,  R.) 

WILLIAM.  Oh,  Father — this  is  Mr.  — endall. 
He's  a  reporter  from  the  Knotley  Guardian — and 
my  brother,  Mr.  — endall.  I'm  being  interviewed. 

BURROUGHS.    What? 

REPORTER.     How  are  you,  sir? 

BURROUGHS.    I'm  not  well  at  all. 

REPORTER.     Awfully  sorry,  I'm  sure. 

BURROUGHS.  And  none  the  better  for  your  pres- 
ence, either. 

WILLIAM.    Father! 

BURROUGHS.  And  I'll  be  obliged  to  you  if  you'll 
go  and  tell  your  editor  that  with  my  compliments. 

REPORTER.    Sorry,  sir.    No  wish  to  intrude. 

BURROUGHS.  I  told  your  editor  that  when  I  want 
to  see  a  reporter  I  will  inform  him  of  the  fact,  sir. 

REPORTER.  Have  you  a  photograph  of  yourself, 
sir? 

BURROUGHS.     What  for? 


70  THE   CHAMPION 

REPORTER.    For  the  Knotley  Guardian,  sir. 

BURROUGHS.  Newspapers — prize  fighters — my 
God — what  next,  I  wonder?  Get  out  of  my  house — 
out — out — out!  ( REPORTER  picks  hat  off  table  and 
rushes  out  c.  to  R.  Enter  SIMMONS  door  R.  with 
flask  of  whiskey.  When  he  sees  BURROUGHS  he 
exits  quickly  door  R.  To  WILLIAM.J  And  as  for 
you,  sir. 

WILLIAM.  (Rising)  De  tout — de  tout,  Father. 
I  know  when  I'm  licked.  I  heard  the  count  the  first 
time.  I'm  going  to  pack  up  now.  (Moves  to  door 

LV> 

MARY.  (Behind  table  R.c.)  Bill,  shall  I  send 
Simmons  to  help  you? 

WILLIAM.  Simmons — yes — and  tell  him  to  hurry 
up.  And  Mary — tell  Simmons  I've  got  my  own 
corkscrew.  (Exit  Lj 

(Exit  MARY  R.) 

BURROUGHS.  Oh  George — the  disgrace — the  dis- 
grace. (Enter  SIMMONS  R.)  Well,  Simmons? 

SIMMONS.     Several  gentlemen  to  see  you,  Sir. 

BURROUGHS.    Who  are  they? 

SIMMONS.  The  Earl  of  Chuffleigh,  sir — the  Mar- 
quis of  Harroween  and  Baron  Holloway. 

BURROUGHS.  Show  them  in.  (Exit  SIMMONS.J 
Great  Heavens !  They've  all  heard  the  news.  It's 
a  delegation.  They've  come  to  protest  against  the 
degradation  of  our  fair  city. 

GEORGE.  Come  to  protest  against  my  candidacy 
for  Parliament — more  likely.  It's  a  big  smash-up, 
Pater. 

BURROUGHS.  Well,  it  can't  be  helped.  George,  I 
shall  die  for  shame. 

(Enter  EARL,  MARQUIS,  BARON,  R.) 


THE   CHAMPION  71 

EARL.  Hello!  Hello!  Hello!  Burroughs!  How 
d'ye  do — how  d'ye  do  ? 

BURROUGHS.     (Bowing)    Your  lordship. 

EARL.  Don't  know  if  you  know  the  Marquis  of 
Harroween. 

BURROUGHS.     (Bowing)    Your  lordship. 

EARL.     Baron  Holloway. 

BURROUGHS.     (Bowing)    Your  lordship. 

EARL.  Well,  here  we  are  you  know.  Daresay 
you  know  what  we've  come  for. 

BURROUGHS.  Alas,  your  Lordship,  I  fear  I  do, 
all  too  well.  I  beg  you  not  to  be  too  hard  upon  me. 

EARL.  Hard  upon  you.  What  the  devil  do  you 
mean? 

MARQUIS.  I  say,  Chuff — what's  the  old  Johnny 
talking  about? 

EARL.  I  don't  know.  We've  come  to  see  your 
son. 

BURROUGHS.    Eh  ? 

EARL.  Yes — yes — yes.  The  Champion,  of  course. 
Where  is  he  ? 

BARON.    Yes — trot  him  out — damn  it. 

BURROUGHS.    Your  Lordship! 

MARQUIS.  Yes — yes — yes.  Where  the  deuce  is 
he? 

EARL.  Look  here,  Burroughs — what  the  devil  do 
you  mean,  keeping  us  in  the  dark  like  this,  eh? 
What — what — what  ? 

MARQUIS.    Yes.    What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  ? 

BURROUGHS.  I'm  distressed  beyond  measure  your 
Lordship.  But  I  assure  you 

MARQUIS.  Tut— tut— tut!  That's  a  likely  story 
— eh,  Holloway? 

BARON.    I'm  completely  baffled. 

BURROUGHS.  Gentlemen — gentlemen !  I  beg  you 
to  believe  that  this  prize  fighter  is  none  of  my  doing. 

EARL.  Eh,  what — what — what!  Fancy  Mrs. 
Burroughs  would  have  something  to  say  to  that, 


72  THE  CHAMPION 

what — what — what!      (They   all   laugh — and   bus.) 

MARQUIS.  Look  here,  Burroughs — what  the  deuce 
are  you  driving  at? 

BURROUGHS.  I  wouldn't  have  had  it  happen  for 
the  world. 

EARL.    Had  what  happen? 

BURROUGHS.    All  this  disgraceful  publicity. 

EARL.  Look  here,  Burroughs — have  you  gone 
balmy !  Here's  the  town  of  Knotley — town  that  is 
dear  to  all  of  us — goes  and  breeds  the  Champion  of 
the  world — damn  it — and  you  keep  it  quiet  for 
years.  Burroughs  it's  dashed  unpatriotic  of  you ! 

BURROUGHS.    W-h-h-at? 

EARL.  And  you  call  yourself  an  Englishman. 
What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  it? 

MARQUIS.     Precisely ! 

BARON.    Exactly ! 

(Enter  SIMMONS  R.) 
SIMMONS.    The  Mayor  and  a  delegation. 

(Enter  MAYOR,  Board  of  Trade  Delegation,  MOONEY 
and  REPORTER,  R.J 

EARL,  MARQUIS  and  BARON.  Ah!  The  Mayor! 
Hello !— Cruikshank — how  are  you  ? 

MAYOR.  Your  Lordship — gentlemen — Mr.  Bur- 
roughs— our  profound  congratulations.  We're  here, 
of  course,  to  see  the  Champion  and  to  welcome  him 
to  his  native  Knotley  in  the  name  of  the  City  and  the 
Board  of  Trade.  (They  all  clap  their  hands,  crying : 
"Bravo,"  etc.)  At  a  meeting  of  the  Board  of  Trade 
last  evening  these  gentlemen  and  myself  were  ap- 
pointed a  Committee  to  wait  upon  the  Champion 
and  request  him  to  do  us  the  honor  of  being  our 
guest  at  a  dinner  at  the  Town  Hall  on  some  evening 
convenient  to  himself.  (Applause.)  Representing 


THE   CHAMPION  73 

as  I  do  the  Town  of  Knotley — I — but,  where  is  he? 
BURROUGHS.    Eh? 
MAYOR.    Where  is  he,  I  say? 
GEORGE.    He's  just  dashed  out  for  a  moment. 
MAYOR.    Dashed  out ! 

^WILLIAM  enters  door  L.  ivith  travelling  bag  and 
hat  in  hand.) 

EARL.  Hello !  Hello !  Hello !  This  must  be  the 
Champion  now. 

MARQUIS.  (To  BARON,)  Yes — yes — yes,  of 
course.  Spot  him  anywhere.  Looks  just  like  his 
picture. 

EARL.  (Crosses  to  WILLIAM  c.)  My  dear  Sir — 
allow  me  the  distinguished  honor  of  shaking  you  by 
the  hand — Earl  of  Chuffleigh,  you  know? 

WILLIAM.  (Putting  down  bag  and  hat,  shaking 
hands)  Why,  certainly,  Earl! 

BURROUGHS.    Good  Heavens! 

EARL.  My  friend  the  Marquis  of  Harroween — 
drinks  damn  bad  whiskey,  but  a  good  fellow  for  all 
that. 

MARQUIS.    How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Burroughs. 

WILLIAM.  (Shaking  hands)  Thanks,  Marquis, 
I'm  quite  well. 

MARQUIS.  (Wincing  at  handshake)  Ha — ha! 
Quite  well.  Droll  fellow,  eh,  Chuffleigh?  Quite 
well,  ha !  ha !  Quite  well !  I  should  think  he  was. 

EARL.    Baron  Holloway. 

BARON.  (Shaking  hands  with  WILLIAM  )  Great 
occasion !  Great  occasion ! 

MOONEY.  (R.  of  WILLIAM,)  The  Mayor  wants 
to  shake  hands  with  you.  (Bus.  WILLIAM  shakes 
hands  with  MAYOR,  members  of  the  Board  of  Trade, 
etc.  Enter  MRS.  BURROUGHS  L.  EARL,  MARQUIS 
and  BARON  see  her  and  rush  over  to  greet  her. 


74  THE  CHAMPION 

They  all  cross  from  L.  to  R.    Chatter  is  general  from 
everybody — laughter — congratulations,  etc.) 

EARL.    And  now,  gentlemen (Everybody  is 

quiet   and   listens.)     Allow    me    to    propose    three 
hearty   English   cheers    for   the   Champion   of   the 

world.       All     together     now — Hip — hip — hip 

(Omnes.)     Hurrah ! 

BARON.     (After  others)    Hurrah! 

MARQUIS.  And  now — allow  me  to  propose — 
three  hearty  English  cheers  for  the  mother  of  the 
Champion  of  the  world — and  together  now — Hip — 
hip — hip (Omnes.)  Hurrah ! 

BARON.     (After  others)    Hurrah! 

WILLIAM.  (Seeing  his  father  downhearted  and 
dejected)  And  now,  gentlemen,  allow  me  to  pro- 
pose, three  hearty  English  cheers  for  the  father  of 
the  Champion  of  the  world !  All  together  now — 
Hip — hip — hip (Omnes.)  Hurrah ! 

BARON.     (After  others)     Hurrah! 

GEORGE.  (Comes  down  c.,  holds  out  hand  to  WIL- 
LIAM,) I  say,  Bill,  old  top — shake!  By  Gad — I 
always  knew  you  were  a  winner.  (Business.) 

WILLIAM.    Trust  you  to  pick  the  winner,  George. 

Gentlemen,  I  thank  you  very  much  and  now 

(Picking  up  his  bag.)     I  must  be  off. 

EARL.    I  say — where  are  you  going? 

WILLIAM.    I'm  going  to  the  Inn. 

EARL.  No  room  for  the  Champion  in  his  father's 
house  ? 

BURROUGHS.     Really,  your  Lordship 

EARL.  No,  no.  There's  no  possible  defence — it's 
disgraceful.  (To  WILLIAM. )  Here — I  say — you'll 
come  with  me  to  the  Grange. 

BARON.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Come  and  stay  with  me 
at  the  Manor. 

MARQUIS.  Absurd.  You'll  be  my  guest  at  the 
Castle. 


THE   CHAMPION  75 

EARL.     My  dear   fellow — the  Countess  is   most 
anxious  to  meet  you. 

BARON.      Lady    Holloway    would    be    charmed. 

(Board  of  Trade  and  REPORTER  exit  c.  to  L.  BARON, 
MARQUIS  and  WILLIAM  turn  and  start  to  exit 
c.  MOONEY  and  MAYOR  pick  up  bag  simultane- 
ously and  struggle  for  the  possession  of  it.  EARL 
rushes  bet-ween  them,  drags  the  bag  out  of  their 
hands.  MOONEY  and  MAYOR  exit  followed  by 
EARL — alone — carying  the  bag  proudly,  while 
MR.  BURROUGHS,  aghast,  looks  on.  PICTURE. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  III 

SCENE  :  The  same.  But  the  room  is  entirely  trans- 
formed. All  the  old  stuffy  furniture  is  gone. 
In  its  place  is  a  lot  of  furniture  which  you 
would  find  in  a  Club  Smoking  room — easy 
leather  chairs,  4  round  tables  with  ash  trays, 
match  stands,  glasses,  whiskey  bottles,  etc.,  on 
tables.  Boxing  gloves,  foils  and  other  sporting 
things  scattered  about  the  room. 

At  rise  of  curtain  all  the  men  are  discovered 
sitting  round  the  tables  with  glasses  in  their 
hands.  MR.  BURROUGHS  is  standing  c.  MARY 
and  ANTOINETTE  are  peeping  in  at  back. 

Animated  conversation  heard  as  Curtain 
rises. 

BURROUGHS.  Yes — gentlemen.  Positively  that  is 
the  way  it  occurred. 

MARQUIS.  (Who  has  been  asleep — awakens  sud- 
denly) Eh  what — what!  What's  this?  What  oc- 
curred ? 

BURROUGHS.  I  was  telling  these  gentlemen  how 
my  boy  defeated  K.  O.  Sweeney  in  their  historic 
altercation  at  a  place  called  Reno. 

MAYOR.    Reno?    Where's  that? 

MOONEY.    A  suburb  of  Chicago. 

BURROUGHS.  To  resume  what  I  was  saying — it 
was  not  until  the  eleventh  period. 

EARL.  I  say,  you  mean  "round,"  don't  you? — 
Round — not  period. 

76 


THE   CHAMPION  77 

BURROUGHS.    Possibly  that  is  so. 

EARL.  Well,  say  round  then— say  round.  Period 
— my  word ! 

BURROUGHS.  Well,  sir — as  I  was  observing,  in 
the  eleventh — er — period  my  son  struck  K.  O. 
Sweeney  very  severely  in  the  abdomen — so  severely 
that  Mr.  Sweeney  lay  down  upon  the  floor  to  rest 
for  a  few  moments.  But  it  was  not  until  the  seven- 
teenth period  that  my  son  struck  him  a  knock  in  the 
cardiac  region. 

EARL.    Gave  him  a  right  to  the  heart,  didn't  he? 

BURROUGHS.    Er — yes,  your  Lordship.    Precisely. 

EARL.    Why  the  devil  don't  you  say  so. 

BURROUGHS.  Such  was  my  intention,  I  assure 
you-  And  then — gentlemen — then  came  the  final 
period.  My  son  quickly  executed  a  vertical  move- 
ment with  his  unemployed  glove,  like  this — and  the 
swiftly  moving  glove  encountered  Mr.  Sweeney  in 
the  region  of  the  lower  maxillary,  so  that  he  reclined 
somewhat  hastily  upon  the  floor,  and — I  am  in- 
formed that  he  remained  unconscious  for  a  consid- 
erable period — er — round.  (Goes  up  back.) 

(MARY  and  ANTOINETTE  exit.) 

BARON.  (To  MARQUIS )  Recites  very  well, 
doesn't  he  ? 

MARQUIS.    I  wonder  if  he  knows  "Gunga  Din." 

REPORTER.  (To  BURROUGHS,)  That  was  a  great 
fight,  Mr.  Burroughs. 

BURROUGHS.    I'll  say  so. 

(Enter  WILLIAM  R.,  with  two  cocktail  shakers  in  his 
hands  which  he  shakes  as  he  conies  in.  All  the 
men  greet  him.) 

MARQUIS.  Boys!  What's  the  matter  with  Gun- 
boat Williams  ? 


78  THE   CHAMPION 

ALL.    He's  all  right. 

MOONEY.    Who's  all  right? 

ALL.    Gunboat  Williams. 

WILLIAM.  And  now,  gentlemen — I  want  to  intro- 
duce you  to  an  American  cocktail. 

BARON.    I've  had  the  pleasure  before. 

WILLIAM.    Hope  you  don't  dislike  them. 

BARON.    Best  thing  in  the  States. 

WILLIAM.  Perhaps  not  quite  that  but  as  an 
American  invention  it  ranks  with  the  telephone  and 
the  sewing  machine. 

MOONEY.  (Crosses  to  c.  Taking  one  cocktail 
shaker  from  WILLIAM)  Allow  me,  Mr.  Burroughs 
— this  is  more  in  my  line.  I'm  going  to  introduce 
these  to  the  Blue  Cow.  fMooNEY  and  WILLIAM  fill 
all  the  cocktail  glasses  around  the  table.) 

('MARQUIS  starts  to  sing  "A  Wee  Dock  and  Doris" 
— the  rest  all  join  in  and  sing  two  verses.  When 
it  is  finished  EARL  rises.) 

EARL.  And  now,  gentlemen,  to  England !  (Every- 
body rises  and  drinks  cocktail.) 

ALL.    To  England ! 

MARQUIS.  (Smacking  his  lips)  It  has  a  message. 
(Everybody  sits  except  EARL  and  WILLIAM.) 

EARL.    I  say,  how  do  you  make  them  ? 

WILLIAM.  One-third  pep — two-thirds  pluck — and 
a  dash  of  generosity. 

EARL.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  the  American  peo- 
ple have  legislated  these  things  out  of  existence? 

WILLIAM.    They  have. 

EARL.  My  God!  They  don't  deserve  their  free- 
dom. Two  or  three  more  of  these  and  I'd  be  a 
champion  myself.  Often  think  if  I'd  not  been  what 
I  am  I'd  like  to  have  been  a  fighter.  Fact,  often 
dream  that  I'm  in  the  jolly  old  ring,  you  know, 
knocking  out  no  end  of  chaps.  (He  spars  with 


THE  CHAMPION  79 

WILLIAM  and  falls  in  chair — is  counted  out — bell 
rings.  Enter  MRS.  BURROUGHS. )  Ah!  Enter  the 
heroine  of  the  evening! 

MARQUIS.  Madam — this  must  indeed  be  a  proud 
night  for  you. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.    I  thank  your  Lordship — it  is. 

WILLIAM.  Gentlemen,  you  know  how  it  is  with 
mothers — they  don't  need  much  of  an  excuse  to  be 
proud  of  their  sons. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  It  would  be  a  still  happier 
night  if  I  were  not  to  lose  him  again  so  soon. 

ALL.  (Bus.)  What — going  away — so  soon — 
leaving  us,  etc.,  etc. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  He  leaves  us  to-morrow  on  his 
way  back  to  his  duties  in  America. 

EARL.    That's  a  pity. 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  And  now,  gentlemen — I  leave 
you  to  your  merry-making. 

MARQUIS.  What's  that?  You're  not  going  to 
dine  with  us? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Oh  no — all  the  ladies  of  the 
household  have  dined  already. 

BURROUGHS.  Yes — gentlemen.  We  thought  it 
best  to  make  a  purely  stag  affair. 

EARL.  Devilish  poor  idea — in  my  opinion.  I'm 
always  strong  for  the  chiffon  myself.  (Everybody 
laughs.) 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Gentlemen,  will  you  go  in  to 
dinner? 

MARQUIS.  (Crosses  to  MRS.  BURROUGHS.  Takes 
her  hand)  Will  the  mother  of  the  Champion  do  us 
the  honor  to  show  us  the  way? 

MRS.  BURROUGHS.  With  pleasure.  ^MARQUIS 
starts  to  sing :  "Here's  to  the  Maiden,"  and  when 
the  chorus  is  reached  they  all  dance  out  singing, 
leaving  BURROUGHS  and  WILLIAM  on  stage.) 

BURROUGHS.  (Breathless,  at  the  door — R.)  Are 
you  coming,  William? 


8o  THE  CHAMPION 

WILLIAM.  (L.)  I  want  to  talk  to  you  first, 
Father. 

BURROUGHS.     Why,  certainly — my  dear  son. 

WILLIAM.  I've  been  thinking  that  all  this  is 
rather  rough  on  you. 

BURROUGHS.    What  can  you  mean? 

WILLIAM.  All  this  advertisement  of  your  dis- 
grace. 

BURROUGHS.    Disgrace  ? 

WILLIAM.  It  will  all  be  in  the  Knotley  Guardian 
to-morrow. 

BURROUGHS.  Rather !  Mr. — Endall  is  here  now. 
I  gave  him  a  complete  list  of  all  the  guests,  and  a 
copy  of  my  photo  for  the  Knotley  Guardian. 

WILLIAM.     Father — you're  awfully  nice  about  it. 

BURROUGHS.    Eh  ? 

WILLIAM.  When  I  know  how  you  must  be  suf- 
fering. 

BURROUGHS.    Suffering? 

WILLIAM.  Of  course — flying  in  the  face  of  all 
your  principles  like  this.  It's  just  as  you  said — 
you'll  never  be  able  to  hold  up  your  head  in  this 
community  again.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'm  going 
to  do.  By  and  by  I'll  have  to  make  a  speech,  I 
suppose,  and  when  I  do,  I'm  going  to  set  you  right. 
I'm  going  to  say:  "Gentlemen:  My  father,  under 
all  his  smiles,  is  really  boiling  with  indignation.  He 
really  thinks  I  am  a  disgrace  and  that  you're  a  lot  of 
scandalous  old  sports  who  would  be  run  out  of  the 
community  if  the  Town  had  any  spunk.  He 
thinks " 

BURROUGHS.  For  God's  sake,  my  son,  don't — 
don't — have  you  gone  mad?  What  on  earth  would 
they  think? 

WILLIAM.    Don't  you  want  me  to  tell  the  truth? 

BURROUGHS.  God  forbid.  Besides,  it  wouldn't  be 
the  truth. 

WILLIAM.    Then,  you're  not  ashamed  of  me? 


THE   CHAMPION  81 

BURROUGHS.  Ashamed  of  you?  What  an  idea! 
Why,  the  Earl  was  saying  to  me  this  very  morning, 
that  he  wished  he  had  such  a  son,  and  the  Marquis 
clapped  his  hands  and  cried :  "Bravo !" 

WILLIAM.    Cried  "Bravo!"  did  he? 

BURROUGHS.    Yes — yes. 

WILLIAM.  Cried  Bravo!  The  Marquis?  Did 
he  ?  Well — well !  I  have  not  lived  in  vain.  (They 
exit  R. — arms  around  each  other.  Applause  heard 
off  R.  SIMMONS  enters  c.  with  SMITH.J 

SMITH.    It's  all  right — I  tell  you  it's  all  right. 

SIMMONS.  (R.)  I'll  let  Mr.  William  know  you 
are  here,  sir — but  I'm  afraid  he  can't  see  you. 

SMITH.    Anything  the  matter  with  his  eyes? 

SIMMONS.    Oh,  no,  sir! 

SMITH.  Then  it's  all  right.  Tell  him  that  Frank 
Smith  of  Mexico  is  here  and  would  like  to  see  him. 
Give  him  that  card. 

SIMMONS.  But  his  father's  entertaining  some 
guests. 

SMITH.  That's  all  right.  I  don't  want  to  see  his 
father.  I  want  to  see  him.  Get  me!  (As  SIMMONS 
stares.)  Oh,  go  on,  Fatty  Arbuckle,  and  tell  him! 
(^SIMMONS  exits  R.U.  SMITH  in  disgust.)  Now  I 
know  why  Ireland  wants  her  freedom. 

(MARY  and  ANTOINETTE  run  on  from  R.C.  giggling 
— they  run  into  SMITH.,) 

MARY.    Oh !    I  beg  your  pardon. 
ANTOINETTE.     Pardon,  M'sieur. 
SMITH.    Don't  mention  it,  ladies. 
MARY.    Are  you  a  guest? 
SMITH.    I'm  here  on  a  sort  of  mission. 
MARY.    Are  you  from  America? 
SMITH.    Yes.    I'm  an  American. 
ANTOINETTE.    Ah !    Americaine. 
SMITH.    That's  it — a  merry  cane. 


82  THE  CHAMPION 

(WILLIAM  enters  R.U.,  card  in  hand.    Turns  to  the 
two  girls.) 

WILLIAM.  Will  you  children  run  away  and  play 
— Mr.  Smith  wants  to  talk  with  me  on  business.  ( The 
girls  giggle  and  exit  c.)  So,  are  you  Frank  Smith ! 

SMITH.  Yes,  sir — are  you  the  Hon.  William  Bur- 
r.oughs ! 

WILLIAM.    Guilty. 

SMITH.  Shake !  I'm  glad  to  meet  a  real  human 
being. 

WILLIAM.  Heard  of  you — hardly  thought  to  meet 
you  here  for  the  first  time. 

SMITH.  Is  funny  how  things  turn  out — lucky  I 
happened  to  be  in  Boston  when  your  partner  wired 
our  office — caught  the  next  boat  and  here  I  am. 

WILLIAM.    Have  a  good  crossing? 

SMITH.  Fine!  Came  on  a  wet  boat.  Get  my 
wireless  ? 

WILLIAM.  Yes.  I  was  expecting  you  here  to- 
night. My  partner  cables  that  you  were  the  engineer 
in  charge  of  a  mine  called  the  Silver  Girl. 

SMITH.  That's  right — bossed  that  job  eight  years. 

WILLIAM.  You  were  there  when  the  mine  shut 
down? 

SMITH.    I  sure  was. 

WILLIAM.    And  you  met  Lord  Brockington  there? 

SMITH.  Yes — saw  his  high  and  mightiness  every 
day  for  a  week  of  so. 

(Hunting  song  heard  off.) 

WILLIAM.     Some  friends  of  mine.     Come  on  in 
and  meet  some  English  noblemen. 
SMITH.    I  met  that  big  fat  guy. 
WILLIAM.    Oh,  he's  the  butler.    (They  both  exit 


THE   CHAMPION  83 

(Singing  continues.    Enter  BROCKINGTON  and  AN- 
TOINETTE— c.j 

BROCKINGTON.    What's  that? 

ANTOINETTE.  Mr.  Burroughs  is  giving  a  party  in 
honor  of  his  son. 

BROCKINGTON.  Oh,  in  honor  of  the  candidate  for 
Parliament. 

(Enter  LADY  ELIZABETH .) 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Mademoislle,  will  you  kindly 
tell  Simmons  to  ask  Mr.  William  Burroughs  if  he 
will  be  good  enough  to  come  here? 

ANTOINETTE.  Certainment,  Milady.  Pardon, 
Milord.  (Exit  R.J 

BROCKINGTON.    What  d'ye  want  with  him? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  He  has  often  expressed  a  de- 
sire to  meet  you. 

BROCKINGTON.  Really?  So  the  old  bird  is  ban- 
queting the  gold  fish  ? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  These  people  are  my  friends. 
I  am  their  guest — and  I  won't  have  you  speak  dis- 
paragingly of  them.  If  you  have  come  to  apolo- 
gize  

BROCKINGTON.  I  haven't — I've  come  to  give  you 
an  ultimatum. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Really? 

BROCKINGTON.  I  will  not  brook  any  further  in- 
terference in  my  management  of  your  affairs — d'ye 
understand  ? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    What  are  you  talking  about? 

BROCKINGTON.  Come — come — don't  try  to  bluff 
me! 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Freddy,  I  give  you  my  word — 

BROCKINGTON.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  don't 
know  that  a  detective  agency  has  been  inquiring  into 
my  management  of  your  business? 


84  THE   CHAMPION 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Certainly  not. 

BROCKINGTON.    I  don't  believe  you. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Freddy,  I  give  you  my  word 
I  know  nothing  about  it. 

BROCKINGTON.  Well,  it  doesn't  matter  a  damn  to 
me  whether  you  know  it  or  not — it's  a  fact.  Now, 
the  point  is  this — (Enter  WILLIAM  R.) — either  you 
have  it  stopped  at  once  or  I  wash  my  hands  of  your 
affairs  for  good  and  all.  You  can  take  your  choice. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Certainly.  It  shall  be  stopped 
at  once.  (Introducing.)  Mr.  William  Burroughs — 
Lord  Brockington. 

BROCKINGTON.    How  d'ye  do? 

WILLIAM.  How  d'ye  do.  Lady  Elizabeth,  you 
sent  for  me. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Yes — you  said  you  wanted  to 
meet  Lord  Brockington.  (Goes  up  stage.) 

WILLIAM.  I  did.  So  you  are  Lord  Brockington. 
You  are  Lady  Elizabeth's  trustee — and  you  have 
reported  to  her  for  the  past  three  years  that  Silver 
Girl  has  suspended  paying  dividends. 

BROCKINGTON.    Is  that  any  business  of  yours? 

WILLIAM.  Lady  Elizabeth,  I  have  one  or  two 
things  to  say  to  Lord  Brockington  and  I  should  be 
very  glad  if  you'd  allow  me  to  say  them  in  private. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  I'm  sorry,  but  there's  been  too 
much  going  on  of  late  in  private.  May  I  stay? 
('LADY  ELIZABETH  goes  up  L.  BROCKINGTON  crosses 
to  L.) 

WILLIAM.  As  you  wish.  (Enter  SIMMONS.) 
Simmons,  tell  Mr.  Smith  I  should  like  to  speak  to 
him  a  moment.  (To  BROCKINGTON.)  You 
see,  sir,  there's  a  gentleman  here  who  has  come  quite 
a  long  way  to  see  you. 

SIMMONS.     (Announcing)     Mr.  Smith. 

SMITH.    (To  SIMMONS)    What  do  you  want? 

WILLIAM.    Simmons,  look  after  Mr.  Smith's  lug- 


THE   CHAMPION  85 

gage.     (Exit  SIMMONS  c.)     Smith,  I  believe  you 
have  met  his  Lordship. 

SMITH.  (Crosses  to  BROCKINGTON.  Offers  hand) 
How  are  you,  Lord  Brockington? 

BROCKINGTON.  You  have  the  advantage  of  me, 
sir. 

SMITH,  (c.)  Oh,  I  guess  not — I'm  Frank  Smith. 
Superintendent  of  the  Silver  Girl. 

BROCKINGTON.  (L.)  I  don't  remember  you  at 
all,  sir. 

SMITH.  Is  that  so?  Saw  you  every  day  for  a 
week  three  years  ago  in  Mexico — I  guess  you  re- 
member being  there. 

BROCKINGTON.  Certainly  I  was  there — strange  I 
don't  recall  you. 

WILLIAM.  (R.  up  stage.  Cheerfully)  Almost 
incredible ! 

BROCKINGTON.  See  here,  Burroughs,  if  you've 
had  anything  to  do  with  this  confounded  interfer- 
ence in  my  affairs,  allow  me  to  tell  you 

WILLIAM.  One  moment,  please,  let's  get  through 
with  Mr.  Smith — then  we'll  come  to  me. 

BROCKINGTON.  No,  sir — no — I'll  not  be  dictated 
to  by  any  third  rate 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Freddy — Freddy — let's  hear 
what  the  man  has  to  say. 

WILLIAM.  Smith,  what  was  the  condition  of  the 
mine  up  to  the  time  Lord  Brockington  came  there? 

SMITH.  Great — continuous  production  record  for 
over  ten  years. 

WILLIAM.    What  were  its  prospects  ? 

SMITH.  Swell!  Tests  showed  high-grade  ore 
enough  to  keep  two  shifts  going  for  three  years  sure, 
and  nobody  knows  how  much  longer. 

BROCKINGTON.    That's  a  damned  lie! 

SMITH.    (Bristling  up  for  a  fight)    What ! 

WILLIAM.    That's  not  your  end  of  this! 

SMITH.    Hornswoggled  hippopotamus! 


86  THE   CHAMPION 

WILLIAM.    Got  any  evidence ! 

SMITH.  (Producing  document)  Sworn  state- 
ment of  Haskell,  Bryant  &  Haskell,  certified  ac- 
countants, Boston,  showing  operations  since  opening 
of  the  mine.  (Produces  second  document.)  Sworn 
estimate  of  future  prospects  signed  by  Dolan  &  Hop- 
kins, mining  engineers,  New  York. 

BROCKINGTON.  I  tell  you  I  employed  the  best 
engineers  in  America  and  they  all  assured  me  the 
mine  was  worked  out. 

WILLIAM.     Mind  telling  us  who  they  were? 

BROCKINGTON.  (Furiously)  I  don't  intend  to 
answer  any  questions  from  you,  sir. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Who  were  they,  Freddy? 

BROCKINGTON.  (Dashed  by  her  attitude)  Do  you 
mean  to  say  you  are  going  to  allow  this  impudent 
fellow  to  cross-examine  me? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  I  confess  I  see  no  harm  in 
your  identifying  these  engineers. 

BROCKINGTON.  Why,  I  don't  recall  their  names 
off-hand — I  have  their  report  in  my  office. 

WILLIAM.  (To  SMITH,)  Ever  see  any  engineers 
around  the  mine  except  Dolan  and  Hopkins? 

SMITH.     No,  sir. 

WILLIAM.  Would  it  have  been  possible  for  any 
other  engineers  to  have  examined  the  mine  without 
your  knowing  it. 

SMITH.    Not  much!     Couldn't  be  done. 

WILLIAM.  Perhaps  Lady  Elizabeth  would  like 
to  know  what  his  Lordship  did  at  the  mine. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    I  should — very  much. 

WILLIAM.     That's  your  end  of  it,  Smith. 

SMITH.  Went  all  through  it — asked  a  lot  of  ques- 
tions— and  finally  ordered  me  to  suspend  operations, 
close  the  mine  up  and  put  in  a  keeper — all  of  which 
I  did. 

WILLIAM.    Did  he  give  any  reasons? 

BROCKINGTON.    Certainly  I  did.    I  told  this  man 


THE   CHAMPION  87 

— (Indicating  SMITH.,) — that  my  engineers  told  me 
the  mine  could  no  longer  be  worked  at  a  profit. 

WILLIAM.  I  thought  you  didn't  remember  Mr. 
Smith. 

BROCKINGTON.    Well,  I  didn't  at  first. 

WILLIAM.    But  now  you  do? 

BROCKINGTON.    Yes. 

WILLIAM.  Glad  your  memory  is  improving. 
How's  your  memory  working,  Smith? 

SMITH.    Ball-bearing ! 

WILLIAM.  Does  your  memory  agree  with  his 
Lordship's  on  this  point? 

SMITH.    Nix. 

WILLIAM.    How  so? 

SMITH.  His  Lordship  told  me  he  was  closing  up 
the  mine  because  of  complications  in  the  manage- 
ment of  the  estate — but  that  it  would  be  re-opened 
in  a  few  months. 

WILLIAM.    How  did  that  strike  you? 

SMITH.    I  thought  it  was  nonsense  and  said  so. 

WILLIAM.    What  did  his  Lordship  say  to  that? 

SMITH.    Told  me  to  mind  my  own  business. 

WILLIAM.    And  then  what  did  you  do? 

SMITH.    Minded  my  own  business. 

BROCKINGTON.  What  nonsense!  Betty,  I  ask 
you — did  you  ever  hear  such  a  silly  piece  of  drivel? 
Your  father  owned  about  three  quarters  of  this 
mine — and  if  I  had  closed  it  up  under  such  circum- 
stances, don't  you  suppose  the  holders  of  the  re- 
maining quarter  interest  would  have  raised  an  out- 
cry you  could  hear  from  New  York  to  London? 

WILLIAM.    Well,  Smith — what  about  it? 

SMITH.  Well,  sir,  I  heard  that  while  Lord  Brock- 
ington  was  in  New  York  he  bought  up  pretty  much 
all  the  loose  shares  that  were  floating  about.  Of 
course  the  price  dropped  when  the  mine  shut  down. 

WILLIAM.     Well — well — that's  interesting. 


88  THE   CHAMPION 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Freddy,  do  you  own  any 
shares  in  the  Silver  Girl? 

BROCKINGTON.     Why,  yes,  a  few — why  not? 

WILLIAM.  Yes,  of  course,  why  not?  Wish  I 
owned  a  few  myself.  ('SMITH  and  WILLIAM  laugh.) 

SMITH.    Me  too! 

WILLIAM.  Er — did  you  buy  these  shares  before 
you  closed  the  mine  or  afterward? 

BROCKINGTON.    What  difference  does  that  make? 

WILLIAM.  Excuse  me — but  aren't  you  a  little 
dense?  Do  you  wish  to  ask  Mr.  Smith  any  ques- 
tions ? 

BROCKINGTON.  I  will  not  degrade  myself  to  that 
extent. 

WILLIAM.  Smith,  is  there  anything  you  would 
like  to  ask  his  Lordship? 

SMITH.    No !    I  don't  want  to  talk  to  him ! 

WILLIAM.  Well,  then,  Smith,  we'll  excuse  you. 
Go  in  and  meet  some  more  Englishmen. 

SMITH.    I  don't  want  to  meet  anybody.   (Exit  n.) 

WILLIAM.  (Calling  after  him)  Get  acquainted 
with  Mr.  Mooney.  He's  done  more  for  me  than  any 
other  man  in  England. 

BROCKINGTON.  (Bursting  out)  Betty,  why  don't 
you  turn  this  fellow  out?  Are  you  going  to  stand 
there  and  hear  my  integrity  impeached  with  a  lot 
of  silly  lies  and  never  open  your  mouth  about  it? 
(No  answer.)  Well — well — why  don't  you  speak? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  (Sorrozvfully)  Freddy — 
Freddy ! 

WILLIAM.  And  now,  dear  Lady  Elizabeth,  I  really 
think  that  what  remains  to  be  said  had  best  be  said 
in  your  absence. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  I  quite  agree  with  you.  (Exit 
through  window  ~L.) 

BROCKINGTON.  I've  nothing  further  to  say  to  you, 
sir. 

WILLIAM.    Ah,  but  I  have  to  you. 


THE   CHAMPION  89 

BROCKINGTON.    Well,  what  have  you  got  to  say? 
WILLIAM.    Just  this — You  are  a  blackguard  and 
a  thief. 

f  BROCKINGTON  lunges  at  WILLIAM.    He  ducks  and 
escapes  the  blow.) 

BROCKINGTON.  Really,  one  can't  get  into  a  vulgar 
brawl  in  a  total  stranger's  house. 

WILLIAM.  We  have  a  garden,  and  it's  a  moon- 
light night. 

BROCKINGTON.  You!  Ha — ha — ha!  Well — well 
— that's  an  idea — dashed  good  idea,  too.  Pity  you're 
not  a  little  bigger. 

WILLIAM.  Oh,  that'll  be  all  right.  Will  you  do 
me  the  honor? 

BROCKINGTON.  Yes,  I'll  do  you  the  honor,  and 
I'll  do  it  so  well  that  her  ladyship  won't  recognize 
you.  Come  on.  (He  laughs  loudly  and  exits  c.  to 
R.  As  he  exits,  takes  off  his  coat.) 

^WILLIAM  stands  for  a  moment  thinking.  Takes 
ring  off  his  finger — takes  off  his  coat  and  exits 
whistling.  Enter  DAVID,  c.  from  L.  followed 
by  SIMMONS  carrying  suitcase.  They  come 
down  stage.) 

DAVID.    What's  he  taking  off  his  coat  for? 

SIMMONS.    I  suppose  he's  hot,  sir. 

DAVID     Hot  ? 

SIMMONS.  Yes,  sir.  I  trust  you  enjoyed  your 
stay  in  London,  Mister  David. 

DAVID.  Very  much,  thanks.  Yes.  (He  looks 
round  room.)  Good  Heavens — Simmons — what's 
the  meaning  of  all  this  ? 

SIMMONS.    It's  the  master's  idea,  sir. 

DAVID.    Eh  ? 

SIMMONS.    (Puts  down  bag,  goes  to  table  L.,  and 


90  THE   CHAMPION 

arranges  bottles  on  table)  Oh  yes,  sir.  We've  made 
a  change  or  two  since  you've  been  gone,  sir. 

DAVID.  I  should  think  so.  What's  that  you  have 
in  your  hand? 

SIMMONS.    Whiskey,  sir. 

DAVID.    Whiskey  in  this  house? 

SIMMONS.    Oh  yes,  sir! 

DAVID.    I  shan't  believe  it  till  I  taste  it. 

SIMMONS.    Oh,  sir — I  assure  you. 

DAVID.    I  say  I  shan't  believe  it  till  I  taste  it. 

SIMMONS.  Yes,  sir.  Quite  so,  sir.  (Bus.  with 
bottle  and  glass.)  Will  you  say  sufficient,  sir? 

DAVID.    Say  what? 

SIMMONS.     Sufficient — sir. 

DAVID.    What  for? 

SIMMONS.    When  it's  sufficient,  sir. 

DAVID.    Oh-h-h!    Sufficient! 

SIMMONS.    (Bus.)    Soda,  sir?    (Bus.) 

DAVID.  Thanks.  (Bus.)  Sufficient!  (Bus.  of 
drinking.)  Well,  now — tell  me — what's  the  meaning 
of  all  this? 

SIMMONS.    Your  father  is  giving  a  party. 

DAVID.    In  honor  of  my  return? 

SIMMONS.  Well,  you  see  it's  this  way,  sir.  (Voices 
heard  off.) 

MARQUIS.  (Off  stage)  I  say,  when  is  that  son 
of  yours  coming  in? 

SIMMONS.  Excuse  me,  sir — they  may  be  wanting 
something.  (Exit  R.J 

MARQUIS.  (Off  stage)  I  say,  old  top — when  is 
that  son  of  yours  coming  in? 

DAVID.  Bless  my  soul,  I  mustn't  keep  them  wait- 
ing. (Applause  heard  off  stage.)  I'm  coming — I'm 
coming.  (Exit  R.) 

(Enter  WILLIAM,  whistling  and  putting  on  his  coat. 
He  pulls  the  bell.    Enter  LADY  ELIZABETH.^ 


THE  CHAMPION  91 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Mr.  Burroughs! 
WILLIAM.    Yes? 
LADY  ELIZABETH.    I  saw  it  all. 
WILLIAM.    You  did  ? 
LADY  ELIZABETH.    Yes! 
WILLIAM.    I'm  awfully  sorry. 
LADY   ELIZABETH.     I   think  you're  wonderful? 
Aren't  you  hurt? 
WILLIAM.    Oh,  no! 
LADY  ELIZABETH.    Ah,  you  are  a  champion ! 

(Enter  SIMMONS.,) 

WILLIAM.  Simmons,  you'll  find  a — a  person  in 
the  garden.  Do  what  you  can  for  him.  (Exit  SIM- 
MONS.,) Don't  worry — he's  not  seriously  hurt — 
just  feels  a  little  cut  up. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  I'm  not  worrying  about  him. 
Whatever  he  got,  he  deserved  it.  But  how  on  earth 
did  you  find  out  about  him? 

WILLIAM.  Well,  father  always  said  George  was 
a  clever  lawyer. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Do  you  mean  to  say  your 
brother  did  all  this? 

(Enter  GEORGE.J 

GEORGE.  What  ho!  Committee  of  one  to  find 
out  what's  become  of  the  guest  of  honor. 

WILLIAM.  Thanks,  old  man.  I'm  coming  right 
away. 

GEORGE.  Not  that  you're  missing  much,  dear  old 
delightful.  The  Pater's  making  a  speech.  Oh,  he's 
in  rare  form.  But  I  say,  Bill,  jolly  good  tip  you 
gave  me.  I've  tried  it  on  already. 

WILLIAM.    Any  luck? 

GEORGE.  By  Jove — yes!  We  had  a  spiffing  old 
row  about  your  big  fight,  you  know.  I  stood  right 


92  THE   CHAMPION 

up  to  him.  Sorry  you  weren't  there  to  hear  me — 
by  Jove  I  am. 

WILLIAM.  That's  the  stuff,  George.  Father's  all 
right,  only  he's  had  his  way  too  much — and  that's 
bad  for  anyone — don't  you  think  so,  Lady  Eliza- 
beth? 

GEORGE.  I'm  afraid  Lady  Elizabeth  is  having  a 
rather  dull  evening. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  On  the  contrary,  it's  the  most 
exciting  evening  of  my  whole  life!  (Crossing  to 
GEORGE.^  And  I  want  to  thank  you  for  a  very, 
very  great  service. 

GEORGE.    What  service? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Oh,  don't  play  the  modest 
violet  any  longer.  I  know  now  it  was  really  you 
who  exposed  my  cousin. 

GEORGE.    Who  said  I  did? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Your  brother. 

GEORGE.  That's  just  like  dear  old  Bill.  He  did 
the  bally  investigating  himself.  Oh,  I  did  some  of 
the  running,  but  it  was  all  Bill's  idea.  He  wanted 
me  to  take  the  credit  of  it — thought  it  would  give 
me  a  sort  of  standing  as  a  lawyer.  (Crosses  to 
WILLIAM. )  But  it  won't  work,  Bill.  You've  taught 
me  one  thing,  dear  old  precious — a  chap's  got  to 
stand  on  his  own  feet — or  else  he  might — er — jolly 
well  sit  down. 

WILLIAM.  Bully  for  you,  George.  We'll  make  a 
man  of  you  yet. 

GEORGE.  (Shaking  BILL'S  hand)  No — will  you 
really,  Bill?  That  will  be  awfully  good  of  you. 
(Crosses  up  L.) 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  And  you  weren't  going  to  tell 
me.  Do  you  think  that's  fair? 

WILLIAM.  Well,  I  thought  you  might  not  care 
to  be  under  obligations — no  matter  how  slight — to 
a  prize  fighter. 


THE   CHAMPION  93 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  What  a  snob  you  must  think 
me! 

(Enter  BARON,  MAYOR,  MOONEY,  REPORTER — R.) 

BARON.  I  say,  why  aren't  you  at  your  own  bally 
dinner  ? 

WILLIAM.    I  was  just  coming  back. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    I'm  afraid  it's  all  my  fault. 

MAYOR.  Cherchez  la  femme!  When  in  doubt 
look  for  the  lady. 

(Enter  BURROUGHS,  EARL  and  others — R.J 

EARL.  (To  WILLIAM,)  Mr.  Burroughs,  will  you 
answer  me  one  question  frankly? 

WILLIAM.    Why,  certainly. 

EARL.  Your  father  informs  me  that  you  are  an 
American  citizen.  Is  that  so? 

WILLIAM.    Father  is  right — as  usual. 

MAYOR.  Well — here  we  are — gathered  together 
to  celebrate  a  British  triumph  and,  dash  it  all — it 
turns  out  we're  shouting  our  heads  off  for  America ! 

WILLIAM.    And  what  of  it,  sir? 

MAYOR.    Eh  ? 

WILLIAM.  America's  my  home.  All  that  I  have 
she's  given  me.  My  home,  my  friends,  my  property. 
I  expect  to  live  with  her  till  I  die.  Shouldn't  I  be 
a  pretty  ungrateful  sort  of  a  chap  if  I  didn't  do  what 
little  I  could  for  her  when  she's  done  so  much  for 
me? 

EARL.  Something  in  what  you  say,  sir.  Bound  to 
admit  it. 

MAYOR.    Mighty  good  remarks,  I'll  say. 

GEORGE.    Yes,  he  gets  them  from  father. 

MAYOR.  Gentlemen — a  few  minutes  ago  the 
Champion  drank  with  us  to  England.  Now  let  us 


94  THE   CHAMPION 

honor  him  by  all  singing  the  American   National 
Anthem. 

ALL.    Yes,  of  course  —  certainly,  etc.,  etc. 

WILLIAM.    Thank  you.     Now,  all  together. 


starts  singing  "Yankee  Doodle."  Stops 
on  "stuck  a  feather  in  his  hat."  MARQUIS  starts 
"Columbia,  the  Gem  of  the  Ocean."  They  all 
join  in  and  sing  two  lines  and  then  stop.  BARON 
sings  "Stuck  a  feather  in  his  hat  and  called  him 
macaroni."  Enter  SMITH  R.) 

SMITH.    What's  that? 

WILLIAM.  Singing  the  American  National  An- 
them. They  know  it  about  as  well  as  we  do.  And 
now,  gentlemen,  you've  been  very  kind  to  me.  Will 
you  do  one  more  thing  to  please  me? 

EARL,  MARQUIS,  BARON.  Certainly!  Give  it  a 
name,  etc.,  etc. 

WILLIAM.  Well,  as  you  know,  my  brother  is 
running  for  Parliament.  Will  you  back  him  for  the 
office? 

EARL.  (Hesitatingly)  H-m-m,  well  —  you  see  — 
the  difficulty  is  —  he's  a  Conservative  —  and  most  of 
us  are  of  the  Liberal  contingent.  (  GEORGE  crosses 
to  R.  c.) 

WILLIAM.  Yes,  but  George  is  a  Liberal  Conser- 
vative, you  know. 

GEORGE.     Yes,  by  Jove.     I'm  frightfully  Liberal. 

MOONEY.  But  what  I  want  to  know  is  —  are  you 
for  Prohibition? 

GEORGE.    Yes. 

MAYOR.    What? 

GEORGE.    No. 

MAYOR  and  MOONEY.    What? 

GEORGE.    Er  —  er  —  yes  and  no,  gentlemen. 

MAYOR.    He's  a  mug  of  half-and-half. 


THE  CHAMPION  95 

GEORGE.  (To  EARLJ  Well,  you  see,  your  Lord- 
ship— it's  this  way. 

EARL.    Oh  politics  is  all  a  lot  of  bally  rot  anyhow. 

WILLIAM.    What  do  you  say,  Earl? 

EARL.  I'll  swallow  brother  George  if  the  rest  of 
you  chaps  are  willing.  What  do  you  say,  Holloway  ? 

BARON.  Right-o  ChufHeigh!  I'll — swallow  him. 
What  do  you  say,  Harroween? 

MARQUIS.  Oh,  very  well.  I've  swallowed  a  lot 
of  worse  pills. 

(Enter    BROCKINGTON    c. — with    SIMMONS — from 
Garden.    BROCKINGTON  very  much  battered  up.) 

EARL.  Hello !  Hello !  Hello !  Why  it's  Brock- 
ington. 

BARON.    I  say — what  Ho !    Freddy ! 

EARL.    What  the  deuce  have  you  been  up  to  ? 

BROCKINGTON.  I — I — er — met  with  a  slight  acci- 
dent. 

EARL.    Not  so  dashed  slight — what! 

WILLIAM.  Lord  Brockington  was  thrown  from 
his  horse,  you  see. 

EARL.  Ah — I  see.  Since  when  have  you  taken 
to  riding  in  your  dress  clothes,  Brockington  ?  Come, 
— come !  You've  been  in  a  jolly  old  fight. 

BARON.    Freddy — you're  a  sight. 

EARL.    How  did  it  happen,  Freddy? 

BROCKINGTON.    I  tell  you  it  was  an  accident. 

EARL.  Tut — tut — tut!  Might  as  well  make  a 
clean  breast  of  it. 

BROCKINGTON.  Thanks,  Chuffleigh — not  just  now. 

So,  if  you'll  excuse  me (Picks  up  coat  from 

chair  R.  and  starts  to  exit.) 

BURROUGHS.  My  dear  Lord  Brockington,  you 
really  must  accept  my  hospitality. 

BROCKINGTON.  Thanks.  I've  had  all  of  your 
hospitality  I  want.  Good-night. 


96  THE  CHAMPION 

DAVID.    (Back  of  table  R.)    Oh,  I've  got  it ! 

BURROUGHS.    What  ? 

DAVID.  He  has  been  having  a  little  debate  with 
Gunboat  Williams.  (Everybody  laughs.) 

EARL.  Oh,  I  say,  Brockington.  Little  debate 
with  Gunboat  Williams !  Oh,  you  royal  old  ass ! 

BROCKINGTON.  What's  that  about  Gunboat  Wil- 
liams ?  (Business.) 

WILLIAM.    Some  people  call  me  that. 

BROCKINGTON.    Good  God! 

WILLIAM.    Yes. 

BROCKINGTON.  Oh,  I  say!  (Bus.  He  exits 
quickly  c.  to  L.  Everybody  laughs  as  he  exits.) 

SMITH.  (Comes  down — takes  WILLIAM'S  hand 
and  laughs)  Good  boy ! 

BURROUGHS.  Really,  I  wouldn't  have  had  this 
happen  for  the  world. 

EARL.  Nonsense.  That  chap's  been  going  about 
licking  chaps  for  years.  Awfully  clever  boxer,  you 

know.  First  fight  he  ever  lost (To  WILLIAM.) 

I  say,  old  chap,  do  tell  us  about  it. 

WILLIAM.  Well,  you  see,  Lord  Brockington  and 
I  differed  as  to  how  a  certain  game  should  be 
played. 

EARL,    What  game? 

WILLIAM.  Well,  in  America  we  call  it  "confi- 
dence." 

EARL.    What  about  this  confidence  game? 

WILLIAM.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  while  we  are 
having  our  coffee.  (They  all  sing:  "Drink,  Puppy, 
Drink"  and  exit  R.) 

SMITH.    What's  the  matter  with  those  guys? 

WILLIAM.    They're  singing. 

SMITH.  Oh,  is  that  so?  (Business.)  Are  you 
sure  they  were  only  singing? 

WILLIAM.    Sure. 

SMITH.    You  don't  say.    (Exit  R.) 


THE  CHAMPION  97 

(Enter  LADY  ELIZABETH  L.) 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  I'm  greatly  indebted  to  your 
friend  from  America. 

WILLIAM.    Oh,  Smith!    He's  all  right. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Do  you  still  think  me  a  snob? 

WILLIAM.  No — no!  Not  at  all!  Never  did! 
Now  that  I  think  of  it — I  can  think  of  a  whole  flock 
of  fighters  that  I  shouldn't  care  to  have  you  under 
obligation  to.  But — well,  I  suppose  a  fellow  can't 
help  feeling  a  little  differently  about  himself.  Hope 
you'll  overlook  it.  I'm  off  to-morrow — and  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  I  never  saw  you  again.  But 
you've  been  mighty  sweet  to  me.  I  suppose  it's  just 
your  nature — you're  kind  to  everyone.  Well,  it's 
the  sort  of  thing  a  fellow  never  forgets. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Is  it? 

WILLIAM.  Not  this  fellow,  anyhow.  And — well 
I  guess  that's  about  all.  So  it's  good-bye  and  God 
bless  you — whatever  you  do  and  wherever  you  are. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Oh,  but  I'm  going  to  see  you 
again. 

WILLIAM.    You  are? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Yes,  I'm  going  to  America. 

WILLIAM.    You  don't  say  so? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Yes,  on  my  honeymoon. 

WILLIAM.  Oh,  that  will  be  fine.  You'll  be  sure 
and  look  me  up — you  and  your  husband — won't  you  ? 
I'll  just  turn  America  inside  out  for  you — and  your 
husband. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  It  may  interest  you  to  know 
that  if  I  ever  do  marry,  I'm  going  to  marry  an 
American. 

WILLIAM.    You  don't  say  so. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    I  do  say  so. 

WILLIAM.  Well,  that's  immense.  You'll  have  me 
singing  "Yankee  Doodle"  in  a  minute.  I  must  give 
you  my  address.  (Gives  her  his  card.)  Then — well 


98  THE  CHAMPION 

— then — you'll    have    it — you    and    your    husband. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  (Reading  card)  156  Elm 
Street,  New  Haven,  Connecticut. 

WILLIAM.  I've  a  charming  little  home  there — bit 
lonely  sometimes — but  you  must  come  and  see  it — 

and — and  your  husband I  suppose  you'll  spend 

some  time  in  New  York. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  Yes,  but  that  won't  be  my 
permanent  address. 

WILLIAM.    No? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Shall  I  give  it  to  you? 

WILLIAM.    Will  you? 

LADY  ELIZABETH.  (Reading  card)  156  Elm 
Street,  New  Haven,  Connecticut. 

WILLIAM.    Lady  Elizabeth! 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    Yes? 

WILLIAM.     You  don't  say  so! 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    I  do  say  so. 

WILLIAM.  (About  to  embrace  her,  takes  ring  out 
of  his  pocket,  puts  it  on  her  finger)  Back  to  the 
ring!  Lady  Gunboat  Williams. 

LADY  ELIZABETH.    I'll  say  so!     (They  embrace.) 

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Explicit  Doscriptive  Catalogue  MaUed  Free  on 


ARE  YOU  A  MASON? 

Source  in  3   acts.    By  Leo  Ditr  •'   i# 

s.     Modern  costumes.    Plays  2l/±  hours.     1  interior. 

Mason?"    is   one  delightful 

iat   are    ai\ 

'    hua 

do  not  kn 
havir. 
•was  h. 

the  order  of  c 

•visiting    friend    for    :  i-    tat 

principal  liar  n:  • 

proved  to   be   a   real    Mason.  .   .   .   To  ->f   the   play 

•would  require  volumes,  its  complications  are  so  numerous.  It  if 
a  house  of  cards.  One  card  wrongly  placed  and  the  whole  thing 
would  collapse.  But  it  stands,  an  example  of  remarkable  in- 
genuity. You  wonder  at  the  end  of  the  first  act  how  the  fus 
can  be  kept  up  on  such  a  slender  foundation.  Bnt  it  continue* 
and  grows  to  the  last  curtain."  One  of  the  most  hilariously 
amusing  farces  ever  written,  especially  suited  to  schools  an£ 
Masonic  Lodges.  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents-. 


KEMPY 


A  delightful  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Jc  Cc  Nugent  antf 
Elliott  Nugent.  4  males,  4  females.  1  interior  throughout. 
Cost  t>rn.  Plays  2^  hours. 

No  m  such  a  tremendous  hit  in  New 

York,  •    snaps  wi' 

humor    of    the    r 

town  folk  :  "lured.     Full  of  sorts,  eacsSk 

one    done    to    a    turn    and   served    wif 
entertainment  for  amuseme;- 
faluti-  -narries  th  •nb«p-> 

Diving  reaii 

marry  the  But  in  that  st  •   thaf 

kept  the  audience  laughing  every  second  of  every  act.  Of  couraff 
there  are  lots  of  ramifications,  each  of  which  bears  its  own  bran& 
•  making  potentials.  But  the  plot  and  the  story  am 
not  the  main  things.  There  is,  for  instance,  the  work  of  tint 
company.  The  fun  growing  out  of  this  family  mivup  is  lively  and 
«lean."  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  Price.  75  Centa. 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City 
Sew  %nd  Eteplirtt  DMeadpttve  Oat&logiw  Mailed  Free  on 


•-.ffsm 


University  of  C; 

Southern  Re§ 

Library  Fac 


FRENCH'S 


Standard  Library  Edition 


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J.  C.  and  Elliott  Nugent 
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French's    International    Copyrighted    Edition    contains    plays,    comedies 
ices  of  international  reputation;  also  recent  professional  successes 
by    famous    American    and    English    Authors. 


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